







A'i 


IIP" 


1 A iH ■nlAi'^TV 


|miIW||mm^ 




'V 


•» ; 


4 


'i 


ii . 

• - . , > I T.-r 

. '|V » i , 

> - ' k ' • 




•I ♦ 


1 1 


* ‘ I • V • V ' ' 

• . ^ > i** • » .( ' 


r* 'i’ 




■' ^ I 


i' . 


rj 


• . 




11 


* • 


f.r . 

Siii. 






I • 






11 . 


; • t . • ( •* ‘i‘ ♦ - 

. .*r . f 

. I 4 - , . . # m M f 




• \ 

:‘ii 4 




I®,., f, r,,: - ■ .fz . T. 

S^V Jt K^ ^■■' . jL' - , C ST*! t_: 

7^* - , ,V^- - ^ *><>' • 


'.U.V 


j- .-j 


'•V 


f- 





, A 







.1 



■ .» !■ 


.• r 



• t 


. » 

" k-'' 

•i • 
■' *» 


'.I ^ 
(■* 


I «« 


IryJ >: •; 

y *■ i ,'>' ' 


■ *■!., *iSP ■'"-.P’".'^'- 






• ' 6 

V *) 


I 

** 


r 


[n 


ii 


V 




f i^/'» 

4. ^ 


. . 
r I 


• *' ’-V/' • i ; ’ SSMtt 


-r^' 

■ ’'f.j.:’'* 

' • ■ , V* 
.-tf 




,>-t 


ii 




W 


; 1.! 


U 




' '/ ' - •. 



^4iV ’-'/^/•. 

4 4 * * • ■ « • ♦ J 

,- >;<*• ', .^4r 


.^r- r,: /■ ... .*,•>■: , 

■■•■V! ;•■'■/»;. 

’ I • ♦ • • %•■ * ’ 

• .. V M. ." ‘,4 .k| V 

« 4 

• V ■' -i- ’ . 

’ • . - 'T , . ’V 




/-v: V 




* •• 


%• 




. "•■A- .-' 

■o.*r '■■■ 


xT .»• 


■. -‘'(V. , '•■■•7S 

,'.,«_ \ ^1^.., /ll 


(r 





i' V' 


' .- . ' -J' ■"* * 


V- 

i 


^ -.t' 


I ■ T 

» • • 

> 


V . » 
I 


•»* ' < 


k»* 

V ‘4 

* I 


f ’ f 


4 V "^ ’• 

“V ■ ... 



y.: 

y'tY 


A r^ V ' 



'».• . . • -V ' 

A,' t. . *.' . i A ■. ^ m . C- 


• ^ V .. 


«• ' < w 

V .*• ' 


'■ ,'4 * *. « '■■^V. * !• J 


1 


'Ov ' 1 • 

' ■ '-■;> ' , ^ ■ 
f ♦ "* wi“ - - - 

•.>■ '• •* . .w 








I. 



* ' ‘«^.‘ } 


■ v'lT:.:- ; . K-: .'BHn 


1 t ■ ' 

* - V ^ .■^•V' ;t ■ 


rk. 


'■ i ■ 


: mm 


5 *' 


S)U 


V.'i' 






. t . 



^ " "f , III^H ' ' iAr**.'' 



« 


- r 


iBk^FgM ^Tj r 

^7y*jyi *'* 1*1" 


. \ 


. ••y. ■ ^iyvj r v-w. ^ 

^ • I « H* • ' ..,*it \ *»■* •. J > T ' 1 -' »!> t! r < . ^ 

?vv,.i; T'!: i-Ji**-.’ ' ,t' >rfr ji' ’G';- 


■ rrV ' ' 

:■• .:\ti''{-'r-.' 


^ • I 




S 


a 


I’ V •. ‘‘ 





« t 


V ^‘ • 


' ■ < ■ f j 

•' • ' “<- ■ ' 



RHKMiT 


r I « '. 

j' ;:^ . ^ ’'w V., 
■ ' * 1 1 . 


4 1 


•'*. 


IHH 


> I 

t 



1 ' 




• % 


Vi»« 

V- ^ 



4 , 


^ 4 


*•» , 

. ) 


» •' if I r"V‘ 


^L^*\). - 



? * • 


1. 

% 

'’>• •>! 


■'it*::?:-, 


■•* V . • ' . • 


'.. , .W'-' 
* - # . •. ' * 




’ 





- • ' »• I *. 1 ' 

- -o'. ', *' 





. ■' s 






iji-, . vrr ■••'<.' 


■ 'H 

- ■ ,J, 




< « 

t ;- ■ 


• -f » . 

A ■ *• ?~t ^-’ ,•» ^ I ,. '! ' I . 

;■!■ W ." 'X*; . ■ ’■ 

»;« I, ' : ,■ 

I ' ^ itt ■ ^ M' - * 


V. .• J.^ 

■ ■ ‘S**,* 


V 


I Af 


' ^1 




r 


j i 


y . 

■v" 






If & 


l« 

^ 


r . '^t 

i » ‘ • « ' . J ! 


.Vlf*/ ‘■‘VT’.'Vrr 

EjW-'’ / .V- .‘^ 




ft ^ * 4 , 

- - i;. * 

« sVr f 


« 

•> 4 

. * i 



‘I 


* . I 


. ' » • . t 

• ’ * * .. -' ■ J • . 

* •'r'i'*' . • 

.■ ' - ;■ . 

■ ■• 'r -' ,- I •'•ft ‘ • *■ •/. -V/'M ') •*. 

'^‘^x 

• f;/ ■ ' ' , <'. ;,■ '. ’ , ' V, . ' '■ ■> I. ‘. Ml ; 


ft * 

I 


'..X"<^X.;.,'^ 

•'. U." 


.' f '> ' 

.'fill 


4 ft 

7 ^ '* 

j «. • 


■ > f 

t 






r * 


- w- 





!. A^- • -• " 




• • 


. •* 


A 


'r' 


.V 


/. f 


, r 


i • 




r 


.J<s 


<; 

f. 



v: V 


• V" '■ ,■ 

’ 4 % ^ ■ 


- ► • 


• ' « • . ♦ • ' I * * » 


I ^ 


« • 


4 

•>- 


* • 


•> '•♦ 


•- » . fc 


i. 



r. 


»i-v. . - ’ 


0 • 








t. 


•*. •< 




» 


• * I 


} M 


• < 


f 


VM 


/ 

f 


I • 


! • 



wm 


■^4 • 


1 . 


. • 


t » 


.V^ •’. 


«. < 1 


• I ♦ 



m" 


■1! 


j 

■j 


’ 4 

-Iv J 


m' 


.V : ' /, 


|U . - u ■'. * f7 


/• » 


r^5 


• »■ 



^ I 


t t 

r 


'. ' 4 -\ * 



» \ 

A • 


.1 




I ^ , • , 


V , 




r • 


• '. /' ■ 


, • 


<• 


/ , . J 

'.( 4 «. ^''• ' 


• ; . A 


(' ' 


V ' ■ K /• 




• » 




o • >^ 


.j 


,>'• ■’ > V • ■' ■ » . - . ■’ 

^V'V ->v v '- '-?■ >H 



* < 

r . 










- • T*. A. ^ »'•» •.*■■' ^’ ' ^*' ■*'• ^ , I U T' , ‘ v/ ‘-’ 

.v ■ • ^ ' ' •^' 5 " a 

*i > s 4* ^ 




^ •-■*-' •* ^» »»*- ‘ -•w * ' • 

i t‘^ t 

. f' -ikL. JlJj. . 





ftl *• _ I fc-' • ‘ I •' ■ ■ -^ 

' l■^ *'< :%. ':-^- -' 

i ^ * /• !• V 

A'*' 

■ rh ■ . , 





I 

I . > 


■'.J V-7J 




• i 


<i . * • . i . , . 


f ‘'•, 


‘ V, '■•' , yW 




« 





> >*• 


" '. 

r I 


«* \ 


iZ* 


J .r- 



Ai 





w •'^ .'i.t ■ 


W % M'* \ ±kAJ T^-A^ *• » I* » 

^ V V' / - . 

• . - . I • 


t 


,.i.. 


'f-' v'-.K 


• ■* , 

» * I 



’ , V , : . • 

- 4 . 


r « 

/. . vO 




• \ 

If 


» '• • 


A. 


p 


■ > ■ 


y -v 

* » 







. ' I ■^^> i« •'* » Vi •' - ' 

.* • ^V' ^"’' • •?^-*.** 

■ 


4 ^ 















PKivK 30 i.’iini'i'S 


3y J. FENIMORE COOPER 


17 TO 27 VANDEW/TEf\ 3T 

ewYo^k;;- 




wrsasffiwcsssBEf 


ll'i!' 


Pocket Edition. Issued Tri-weekly. By Snb.scription $:^G per annum, 
rtiinro— Entered at the Post Office at New York at second class rates.— April 7, 18 


r 










MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 


THE SEASIDE LIBEAET.-POOKET EDmOH. 


tro. 

1 Tolande. By William Black. 20 

2 Molly Bawn. ^ ** The Duchess ”. . . . 20 

5 The Mill on the Floss. By George Eliot 20 

4 Under Two Flags. By “ Ouida ” 20 

6 Admiral’s Ward. By Mrs. Alexander.. 20 

6 Portia. By “ The Duchess 20 

7 Pile No. li3. By Emile Gaboriau 20 

8 East Lynne. Bf Mrs. Henry Wood .... 20 

9 Wanda. By “ Ouida ” 20 

10 The Old Curiosity Shop. By Dickens. 20 

11 JohnHalifax, Gentleman. Miss Mulock 20 

12 Other People’s Money. By Gaboriau. 20 

13 Eyre’s Acquittal, By Helen B. Mathers 10 

14 Airy Fairy Lilian. By “ The Duchess ” 10 

15 Jane Eyre. By Charlotte Bront6 20 

16 Phyllis. By “ The Duchess ” 20 

17 The Wooing O’ t. By Mrs. Alexander,. 15 

18 Shandon Bells. By William Black.... 20 

19 Her Mother’s Sin. By the Author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 10 

20 Within an Inch of His Life. By Emile 

Gaboriau 20 

21 Sunrise. By William Black 20 

22 David Copperfleld. Dickens. Vol. I.. 20 

22 David Copperfieijd. Dickens. Vol. II. 20 

23 A Princess of Thule. By William Black 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. Dickens. Vol. I... ^ 

24 Pickwick Papers. Dickens. Vol. II.. 20 

25 Mrs. Geoffrey. By “ The Duchess ”... 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Gaboriau. Vol. I, 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Gaboriau. Vol. II. 20 

27 Vanity Fair. By William M. Thackeray 20 

28 Ivanhoe. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

29 Beauty’s Daughters. “ The Duchess ” 30 

30 Faith and Unfaith. By “The Duchess” 20 

31 Middlemarch. By George Eliot 20 

32 The Land Leaguers. Anthony Trollope 20 

33 The Clicme of Gold. By Emile Gaboriau 10 
84 Daniel Deronda. By George Eliot ... 80 

35 Lady Audley’s Secret. Miss Braddon 20 

36 Adam Bede By George Eliot 20 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles Dickens 30 
88 The Widow Lerouge. By Gaboriau.. 20 

39 in Silk Attire. By William Black 20 

40 The Last Days of Pompeii. By Sir E. 

Buiwer Lytton 20 

41 Oliver Twist. By Charles Dickens 15 

42 Romola. B}'^ George Eliot 20 

43 The Mystery of Orcival. Gaboriau.... 20 

44 Macleod of Dare. By William Black., 20 

45 A Little Pilgrim. By Mrs. Oliphant. .. 10 

46 Very Hard Cash. By Charles Reade.. 20 

47 Altiora Peto. By Laurence Oliphant.. 20 

48 Thicker Than Water. By James Payn. 20 

49 That Beautiful Wretch. By Black... ^ 

50 The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton. 

By William Black 20 

51 Dora Thorne. By the Author of ” Her 

Mother’s Sin ” 20 

62 The New Mag-daien. By Wilkie Collins. 10 

63 The Story ot Ida. By Francesca 10 

64 A Broken Wed ding'Ring. By the Au- 

thor of ” Dora Thorne ” 20 

66 The Three Guardsmen. By Dumas. ... 20 

66 Phantom Fortune. Miss Braddon..., 20 

67 Shirley. By Charlotte Bront6 20 


NO. PRICE. 

68 By the Gate of the Sea. D. C. Miuray 10 

59 Vice Versft. By P. Anstey 20 

60 The Last of the Mohicans. Cooper. . 20 

61 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. Rowson. 10 

62 The Executcu-. By Mrs. Alexander.. 20 

63 The Spy. By J. Fenimore Cooper. .. 20 

64 A Maiden Fair. By Charles Gibbon.. 30 

65 Back to the Old Home. By M. C. Hay 10 

66 The Romance of a Poor Young Man. 


By Octave Feuillet 10 

67 Lorna Doone. By R. D. Blackmore. . 30 

68 A Queen A mongst Women. By the 

Author of ” Dora Thorne ” 10 

69 Madolin’s Lover, By the Author of 

“Dora Thorne 20 

70 White Wings. By William Black ... 10 

71 A Struggle for Fame. Mrs. Riddell.. 20 

72 Old Myddelton’s Money. Bj'M. C. Hay 20 

73 Redeemed bj' Love. By the Author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

74 Aurora Floyd. By Miss M.E. Braddon 20 

75 Twenty Years After. By Dumas... 20 

76 Wife in Name Only. By the Author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

77 A Tale of Two Cities. By Dickens 15 

78 Madcap Violet. By William Black... 20 

79 W edded and Parted. By the Author 

of Dora Thorne ” 10 

80 June. By Mrs. Forrester 20 


81 A Daughter of Heth. By Wm. Black. 20 

82 Sealed Lips. By F. Du Boisgobey. . . 20 

83 A Strange Story. Buiwer Lytton.... 20 

84 Hard Times. By Charles Dickens. .. 10 

85 A Sea Queen. By W. Clark Russell.. 20 


86 Belinda. ByRhoda Broughton 20 

87 Dick Sand ; or, A Captain at Fifteen. 

By Jules Verne ; 20 

88 The Privateersman, Captain Marry at 20 

89 The Red Eric. By R. M. Ballantyne, 10 

90 Ernest Maltra vers, Buiwer Lytton.. 20 

91 Bamaby Rudge. By Charles Dickens. 20 

92 Lord Iwnne’s Choice. By the Author 

of “Dora Thorne ” 10 


93 Anthony Trollope's Autobiography.. 20 

94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dickens. . . SO 

95 The Fire Brigade. R. M. Ballantyne 10 

96 Erling the Bold. ByR.M. Ballanty ne 10 

97 All in a Garden Fair. Weaker Besant.. 20 

98 A Woman-Hater. By Charles Reade. 15 

99 Barbara’s History. A. B. Edwards. .. 20 
300 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas. By 

Jules Verne 20 

101 Second Thoughts. Rhoda Broughton 20 

102 The Moonstone. By Wilkie Collins.. . 15 

103 Rose Fleming. By Dora Russell. .... 10 

104 The Coral Pin. By F. Du Boisgobey. 30 

105 A Noble Wife. By John Saunders. ... 20 

106 Bleak House. By Charles Dickens. . . 40 

107 Dombey and Son. Charles Dickens. . 40 

108 The Cricket o the Hearth, and Doctor 

Marigold. By Charles Dickens. ... 10 

109 Little Loo. By W. Clark Russell 20 

110 Under the Red Flag. By Miss Braddon It 

111 The Little Schoolmaster Mark. By 

J. H. Shorthouse 

112 The Waters of Marah, By Jo^ 


THE SEASIDE LIBR/ 


NO. PRICE. 

113 Mrs. Carr's Companion. ByM. 

G. Wi^htwick 10 

114 Some of Our Girls. By Mrs. 

C. J. Eiloart 20 

115 Diamond Cut Diamond. By T. 

Adolphus Trollope 10 

116 Moths. By“Ouida” 20 

117 A Tale of the Shore and Ocean. 

By W. H. G. Kingston 20 

118 Loys, Lord Berresford, and Eric 

Dering. d3y ‘‘ The Duchess ”. 10 

119 Monica, and A Rose DistilTd. 

By “ The Duchess ” 10 

120 Tom Bi'own’s School Days at 

Rugby. By Thomas Hughes 29 

121 Maid of Athens. By Justin ]\lc- 

Carthy 20 

122 lone Stewart. By Mrs. E. Lynn 

Linton 20 

123 Sweet is True Love. By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

124 Three Feathers. By William 

Black 20 

125 The Monarch of Mincing Lane. 

By William Black 20 

126 Kilmeny. By William Black. . . 20 

127 Adrian Bright. By Mrs. Caddy 20 

128 Afternoon, and Otiier Sketches. 

By “Ouida” 10 

129 Rossmoyne. By “ The Duch- 

ess ” 10 

130 The Last of the Barons. By 

Sir E. BulwerLytton 40 

131 Our Mutual Friend. Charles 

Dickens 40 

132 Master Humphrey’s Clock. By 

Charles Dickens 10 

133 Peter the Whaler. By W. H. G. 

Kingston 10 

134 The Witching Hour. By “The 

Duchess ” 10 

135 A Great Heii*ess. By R. E. Fran- 

cillon 10 

136 “That Last Rehearsal.” By 

“ The Duchess ” 10 

137 Uncle Jack. By Walter Besant 10 

138 Green Pastures and Piccadilly. 

By William Black 20 

139 The Romantic Adventures of a 

Milkmaid. By Thomas Hardy 10 

140 A Glorious Fortune. By Walter 

Besant 10 

141 She Loved Himl By Annie 

Thomas 10 

142 Jenifer. By Annie Thomas — 20 

143 One False, Both Fair. J. B. 

Harwood 20 

144 Promises of Marriage. By 

Emile Gaboriau 10 

145 “Storm-Beaten:” God and The 

Man. By Robert Buchanan . . 20 

146 Love E'inds the Way. By Walter 

Besant and James Rice 10 

147 Rachel Ray. By Anthony Trol- 

lope 20 

148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. 

By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 10 


(. — Pocket Edition. 


NO. PRICK. 

149 The Captain’s Daughter. Fi’om 

the Russian of Pushkin 10 

150 For Himself Alone. By T. W. 

Speight 10 

151 The Ducie Diamonds. By C. 

Blatherwick 10 

152 The Uncommercial Traveler. 

B 3 '’ Charles Dickens 20 

153 The Golden Calf. By MissM. E. 

Braddon 20 

154 Annan Water. By Robert Bu- 

chanan 20 

155 Ladj^ Muriel’s Secret. By Jean 

Middlemas 20 

156 “ For a Dream’s Sake.” By Mrs. 

Herbert Martin 20 

1.57 Milly’s Hero. By F. W. Robin- 
son. 20 

158 The Starling. B 3 '^ Norman Mac- 

leod, D.D 10 

159 A Moment of Madness, and 

Other Stories. By Florence 
Mariyat 10 

160 H^r Gentle Deeds. By Sarah a 

TytJer 10 

161 The Lady of Lyons. Foanded 

on the Play of that title by 
Lord Lytton 10 

162 Eugene Aram. By Sir E. Bul- 

wer Lytton 20 

163 Winifred Power. B 3 '^ Joyce Dar- 

rell 20 

164 Leila ; or, Tlie Siege of Grenada. 

By Sir E. Bulwer Lytton 10 

165 The History of Henry Esmond. 

By William Makepeace.Thack- 
eray 20 

166 Moonshine and Marguerites. By 

“ The Duchess” 10 

167 Heart and Science. By Wilkie 

Collins 20 

168 No Thoroughfare. By Charles 

Dickens and Wilkie Collins. . . 10 

169 The Haunted Man. By Charles 

Dickens 10 

170 A Great Treason. B 3 ^ Maiy 

Hoppus ;io 


171 Fortune’s Wheel, and Other 

Stories. By “The Duchess” 10 

172 “ Golden Girls.” By Alan Muir 20 

173 The Foreigners. By Eleanor C. 

Pi’ice 20 

174 Under a Ban. By Mrs. Lodge. . 20 

175 Love’s Random Shot, and Other 

Stories. By Wilkie Collins. . . 10 

176 An April Day. By Philippa P. 

Jephson 10 

177 Salem Chapel. By Mrs.Oliphant 20 

178 More Leaves from the Journal 

of a Life in the' Highlands. By'" 
Queen Victoria 10 

179 Little Make-Believe. By B. L. 

Farjeon 10 

180 Round the Galley Fire. By W. 

Clark Russell 10 

181 The New Abelard. By Robert 

Buchanan 10 

182 The Millionaire. A Novel 20 


r 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.-Pocket Edition. 


NO. PRICE. 


183 Old Contrairy, and Other Sto- 

ries. By Florence Marryat. . . 10 

184 Thirlby Hall. By W. E. Norris. SO 

185 Dita. By Lady Margaret Ma- 

jendie 10 

186 The Canon’s Ward. By James 

Payn, — SO 

187 The Midnight Sun. ByFredrika 

Bremer 10 

188 Idouea. B5’’ Anne Beale SO 

189 Valerie’s Fate. Mrs. Alexander 5 

190 Romance of a Black A^eil. By 

the author of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

191 Harry Lorrequer. By Charles 

Lever 15 

192 At the World’s Mercy. By F. 

Warden • 10 

193 The Rosary Folk. By G. Man- 

ville Fenn 10 

194 “ So Near, and Yet So Far !” B.y 

Alison 10 

195 “ The AVay of the World.” By 

David Chi’istie Murray 15 

*19j 6 Hidden Perils. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 10 

197 For Her Dear Sake. Bj’ Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

198 A Husband’s Story 10 

199 The Fisher A^illage. By Anne 

Beale 10 

200 An Old Man’s Love. By An- 

thony Trollope . . 10 

201 The Monasteiy. By Sir AValter 

Scott 20 

S02 The Abbot. By Sir Walter Seott 20 

203 John Bull and His Island. By 

Max O’Rell 10 

204 Vixen. By Miss M. E. Braddon 15 

205 The Minister’s Wife. B3’ Mrs. 

Oliphant, 30 

206 The Pictui'e, and Jack of All 

Trades. By Charles Read e. . 10 

207 Pretty Miss Neville. By B. M. 

Crdker 15 

208 The Ghost of Charlotte Cray, 

and Other Stories. By Flor- 
ence Marryat 10 

209 John Holds worth. Chief Mate. 

By W. Clark Russell 10 

210 Readiana: Comments on Cur- 

rent Events. By Chas. Reade 10 

211 The Octoroon. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 10 

212 Charles O'Malley, the Irish Dra- 

goon. By Chas. Lever (Com- 
plete in one volume) 30 

213 A Terrible Temptation. Chas. 

Reade 15 

214 Put Yourself in His Place. By 

Charles Reade 20 

215 Not Like Other Girls. Bj'^ Rosa 

Nouchette Carey 15 

216 Foul Play. By Charles Reade. 15 
217- I’he Man She Cared For. Bj^ 

F. AV. Robinson 15 

218 Agues Sorel. By G. P. R. James 15 

219 Lady Clare ; or. The Master of 

the Forges. By Georges Ohnet 10 


NO. PRICE. 


220 Which Loved Him Best? By 

the author of ” Dora Thorne ” 10 

221 Cornin’ Thro’ the Rye. By 

Helen B. Mathers 15 

222 The Sun-Maid. By Miss Grant 15 

223 A Sailor’s Sweetheart. By AV. 

Clark Russell 15 

224 The Arundel Motto. Mary Cecil 

Hay 15 

225 The Giant’s Robe. ByF. Anstey 15 

226 Friendship. By ” Ouida ” 20 

227 -Nancy. By Rhoda Broughton. 15 

228 Princess Napraxine. By “ Oui- 

da” 20 

229 Maid, AVife, or AA^idow? By 

Mrs. Alexander 10 

230 Dorothy Forster. By AA’^alter 

1 ^ 

231 Griffith Gaunt. Charles Reade 15 

232 Love and Money ; or, A Perilous 

Secret. By Charles Reade. . . lO 

233 ” 1 Sa3' No or, tlie Love-Letter 

Answered. AA^ilkie Collins. ... 15 

234 Barbara; or. Splendid Misery. 

Aliss M. E. Braddon 15 

235 “ It is Never Too Late to 

, Mend.” By Charles Reade. . . 20 

236 AVhich Shall lt Be? Mrs. Alex- 

ander 20 

237 Repented at Leisure. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 15 

238 Pascarel. B}^” Ouida” 20 

239 Signa. By “Ouida ” 20 

240 Called Back. B^^ Hugh CouAvay 10 

241 The Baby’s Grandmother. B3’ 

L. B. AValford 10 

242 The Two Orphans, ByD’Ennery 10 

243 Tom Burke of “ Ours.” First 

half. B3" Charles Lever 20 

243 Tom Burke of “ Ours.” Second 

half. By Charles Lever 20 

244 A Great Mistake. By the author 

of “ His AA’'edded Wife ” 20 

245 Miss Tommy, and In a House- 

Boat. B3' Miss Mulock 10 

246 A Fatal Dower. By the author 

of “ His AVedded AA'^ife ” 10 

247 The Armourer's Prentices. By 

Charlotte M. Yonge 10 

248 The House on the Marsh. F. 

AVarden lo 

249 “ Prince Charlie’s Daughter.” 

By author of “ Dora Thorne ” It) 

250 Sunshine' and Roses; or, Di- 

ana’s Discipline. B3' the au- 
thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 


251 The Daughter of the Stars, and 
Other Tales. By Hugh Con- 


way, author of “Called Back” 10 
252 A Sinless Secret. By “ Rita ”. . 10 
2.53 The Amazon. By Carl A’'osmaer 10 

254 The Wife’s Secret, and Fair but 

False. By the author of 
“ Dora Thorne ” 10 

255 The Mystei*y. By Mrs. Henrj”- 

AVood 15 

256 Mr. Smith : A Part of His Life. 

By L. B. AValford 15 




THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.- Pocket Edition. 


■NO. PRICE. 

Beyond Recall. By Adeline Ser- 
geant 10 

258 Cousins. By L. B. Walford 20 

259 The Bride of Monte-Cristo. (A 

Sequel to “ Tlie Count of 
Monce-Cristo.” By Alexander 
Dumas 10 

260 Proper Pride. By B. M. Croker 10 

261 A Fair Maid. By F. W. Robinson 20 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Parti By Alexander Dumas 20 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. 

Part II. By Alexander Dumas 20 

263 An Ishmaelite. By Miss M. E. 


Braddon 15 

264 Piddouche, A French Detective. 

By Fortune Du Boisgobey 10 

265 Judith Shakespeare : Her Love 

Affairs and Other Adventures. 

By William Black 15 

266 The Water-Babies. AFa*iryTale 

for a Laud-Baby. By the Rev. 
Charles Kingsley 10 

267 Laurel Vane; or. The Girls’ 

Conspiracy. B}' Mrs. Alex. 
McVeigh Miller 20 

268 Lady Gay’s Pride; or, The 

Miser's Treasure. By Mrs. 
Alex. McVeigh Miller. 20 

269 Lancaster’s Choice. By Mrs. 

Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 

270 The Wandering Jew. Part I. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

270 The Wandering Jew. Part II. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

271 The Mysteries of Paris. Part I. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

271 The Mysteries of Paris. Part II. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

272 The Little Savage. By Captain 

Marry at 10 

273 Love and Mirage ; or, The Wait- 

ing on an Island. By M. 
Betham- Edwards . . 10 

274 Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 

Princess of Great Britain and 
Ireland. Biographical Sketch 
and Letters 10 

275 The Three Brides. Charlotte M. 

Youge .; 10 

276 Under the Lilies and Roses. By 

Florence Marryat (Mrs. Fran- 
cis Lean) 10 

277 The Surgeon’s Daughters. By 

Mrs. Henry Wood. A !Man of 
His Word. By W. E. Norris. 10 

278 For Life and Love. By Alison . 10 

279 Little Goldie. Mrs. Sumner Hay- 

den 20 

280 Omnia Vanitas. A Tale of So- 

ciety. By Mrs. Forrester 10 

281 The Squire’s Legacy. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 15 

282 Donal Grant. By George Mac- 

Donald 15 

283 The Sin of a Lifetime. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 10 
?84 Doris. By “ The Duchess ” . . 10 


NO. PRICE. 

285 The Gambler’s Wife 20 

286 Deldee; or. The Iron Hand. By 

F. Wal’d en 20 

287 At War With Herself. By the 

author of ” Dora Thorne ”... 10 

288 From Gloom to Sunlight. By 

the author of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

289 John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 

Ti-ue Light. By a “ Brutal 


Saxon ” 10 

<290 Nora’s Love Test. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

291 Love’s Warfare. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

292 A Golden Heart. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne” 10 

293 The Shadow of a Sin. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 10 

294 Hilda. By the author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 10 

295 A Woman’s War. By the author 

of ” Dora Thorne ” 10 

296 A Rose in Thorns. By the au- 

thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

297 Hilary’s Folly. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

298 Mitchelhurst Place. By Marga- 

ret Veley 10 

299 The Fatal Lilies, and A Bride 

from the Sea. By the author 
of ” Dora Thorne ” 10 

300 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 

Love. By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 10 

301 Dark Days. By Hugh Conway. 10 

302 The Blatchford Bequest. By 

Hugh Conway 10 

303 Ingledew House, and More Bit- 

ter than Death. By the author 
of “ Dora Thorne 10 

304 In Cupid’s Net. By the author 

of ” Dora Thorne ” 10 

305 A Dead Heart, and Ladi”^ Gwen- 

doline’s Dream. By the au- 
thor of ” Dora Thorne ” 10 

306 A Golden Dawn, and Love for a 

Day. By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 10 

307 Two Kisses, and Like No Other 

Love. By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne’’ 10 

308 Beyond Pardon 20 

309 The Pathfinder. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper 20 

310 The Prairie. By J, Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

311 Two Years Before the Mast. By 

R. H. Dana, Jr 20 

312 A Week inKillarne 3 ^ By “The 

Duchess” 10 

313 The Lover’s Creed. By Mrs. 

Cashel Hoey 15 

314 Peril. By Jessie Fothergill 20 

315 The Mistletoe Bough. Edited 

by Miss M. E. . Braddon 20 

316 Sworn to Silence ; or. Aline Rod- 

ney’s Secret. By Mrs. Alex. 
McVeigh Miller 2(1 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY— Pocket Edition. 


20 

20 


10 

20 

20 

20 


NO. PRICE. 

B17 Bj’’ Mead and Stream. Charles 
Gibbon 20 

318 The Pioneers ; or, The Sources 

of the Susquehanna. By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

319 Face to Face : A Fact in Seven 

Fables. By R. E. Francillon. 10 
820 A Bit of Human Nature. By 
David Christie Murray 10 

321 The Prodigals: And Their In- 

heritance. By Mrs. Oliphant 10' 

322 A Woman’s Love-Story 10 

323 A Willful Maid..... 20 

324 In Luck at Last. By Walter 

Besant 10 

325 The Portent. By George Mac- 

donald.. 10 

326 Phantastes. A Faerie Romance 

for Men and Women. By 
George Blacdonald 10 

327 Raymond’s Atonement. (From 

the German of E. Werner.) 

By Christina Tyrrell.. . ...... 

328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. First half. 

328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. Second half 20 

329 The Polish Jew. ByErckmaun- 

Chatrian ..... 

330 May Blossom ; or. Between Two 

Loves. By Margaret Lee. . . 

331 Gerald. By Eleanor C. Price., 

332 Judith Wynne. A Novel.. . 

333 Frank Fairlegh ; or. Scenes 

from the Life of a Private 
Pupil. By Frank E. Smedley 20 

334 A Marriage of Convenience. By 

Harriett Jay 10 

335 The White Witch. A Novel 20 

336 Philistia. By Cecil Power 20 

337 Memoirs and Resolutions of 

Adam Graeme of Mossgray, 
Including Some Chronicles of 
the Borough of Fendie. By 
Mrs. Oliphant 20 

338 The Family Difficulty. By Sarah 

Doudney. 10 

339 Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid. 

By Mrs. Alexander 10 

340 Under Which King? By Comp- 

ton Reade 

341 Dladolin Rivers; or, The Little 

Beauty of Red Oak Seminary. 

By Laura Jean Libbey 

342 The Baby, and One New Year’s 

Eve; By “ The Duchess ” 

343 The Talk of the Town. By 

James Payn . 

844 “The Wearing of the Green.” 

By Basil 

345 Madam. By Mrs. Oliphant 

346 Tumbledown Farm. By Alan 

Muir 

347 As Avon Flows. By Henry Scott 

Vince 

348 From Post to Finish. A Racing 

Romance, By Hawley Smart 20 


20 


20 

10 

20 

20 

20 

10 

20 


NO. 

349 


350 

351 

352 

353 

354 

355 

356 

357 

358 

359 

360 

361 

362 

363 

364 

365 

366 

367 

368 

369 

370 

371 

372 

373 

374 

375 

376 

377 


PRICE. 

The Tw’o Admirals. A Tale of 
the Sea. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 26 

Diana of the Crossways. By 

George Meredith 10 

The House on the Moor. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

At Any Cost. By Edward Gar- 
rett 10 

The Black Dwarf, and A Leg- 
end of Montrose. By Sir Wal- 
ter Scott 20 

The Lottery of Life. A Story 
of New York Twenty Years 
Ago. By John Brougham... 20 
That Terrible Man. By W. E. 
Norris. The Princess Dago- 
mar of Poland. By Heinrich 

Felbermann 10 

A Good Hater. By Frederick 

Boyle 20 

John. A Love Story. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

Within the Clasp. By J. Ber- 
wick Harwood 20 

The Water-Witch. By J. Feni- 
more Cooper 20 

'Ropes of Sand. By R. E. Fran- 
cillon..,., 20 

The Red Rover. -A Tale of the 
Sea. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 
The Bride of Lammermoor. 

By Sir Walter Scott 20 

The Surgeon’s Daughter. By 

Sir Walter Scott 10 

Castle Dangerous. By Sir Wal- 
ter Scott 10 

George Christy; or. The Fort- 
unes of a Minstrel. By Tony 

Pastor 20 

The Mysterious Hunter; or. 
The Man of Death. By Capt. 

L. C. Carleton 20 

Tie and Trick. By Hawley Smart ^ 
The Southern Star ; or. The Dia- 
mond Land. By Jules Verne 20 
Miss Bretherton. By Mrs. Hum- 
phry Ward 10 

Lucy Crofton. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 
Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. Oli- 

phaht; 20 

Phyllis’ Probation. By the au- 
thor of “ His Wedded Wife ”. 10 
Wing-and-Wing. J. Fenimore 

Cooper. .' 20 

The Dead Man’s Secret ; or. The 
Adventures of a Medical Stu- 
dent. By Dr. Jupiter Paeon.. 20 
A Ride to Khiva. By Capt. Fred 
Burnabj% of the Roj'ai Horse 

Guards 20 

The Crime of Christmas-Day. 

By the autlior of “ My Duc- 
ats and My Daughter 10 

Magdalen Hepburn: A Story 
of the Scottish Reformation. 

By Mrs. Oliphant 


( 8 ) 


I 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 

\ • 


SEQUEL TO “AFLOAT AND ASHORE.” 


v/ . 

By J. FENIMORE COOPER. 


) ^ 



GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

17 TO 27 VANDf—ATER STREET. 









f 

t 

% 










t . 


•ft.' *•; 


< - * 


' r 




« . 








i 

? 


i 

i 

.1 

•«. 

i 

I 













I 




4 



A 






PREFACE. 


The conclusion ot this tale requires but little preface. Many 
persons may think that there is too much of an old man’s despond- 
ency in a few of the opinions of Uiis portion of the work; but, after 
sixty, it is seldom we view the ilnngs of this world en hean. There 
are certain political allusions, very few in number, but pretty strong 
in language, that the signs of the times fully justify, in the editor’s 
judgment; though he does not profess to give his own sentiments 
in this work, so much as those of the subject of the narrative him- 
self. “The anti-rent combination,’’ for instance, will prove, ac- 
cording to the editor’s conjectures, to be one of two things in I his 
cominunity-^the commencement of a dire revolution, or the com- 
mencement of a return to the sounder notions and juster principles 
that prevailed among us thirty years since, than certainly prevail to- 
day. There is one favorable symptom discoverable in the deep- 
seated disease that pervades the social system; men dare, and do deal 
more honestly and frankly with the condition of society in this 
country, than was done a few years since. I'his right, one that 
ought to be most dear to every freeman, has been recovered only 
by painful sacrifices and a stern resolution; but recovered it has 
been, in some measure; and, were the pens of the country true to 
their owners’ privileges, we should soon come to a just view of the 
sacred nature of private character, as well as'the target-like vulner- 
ability of public follies and public vice. It is certain thac, tor a 
series of dangerous years, notions just the reverse of this have pre- 
vailed among us, gradually rendering the American press equall}' 
the vehicle ot the most atrocious personal calumny, and the most 
flatulent national self-adulation. It is under such a slate of things 
that the few evils alluded to in this work have had their rise. 
Bodies of men, however ignorant or small, have come to consider 
themselves as integral portions ot a community that never errs, and, 
consequently, entitled to esteem themselves infallible. When in 
debt they have fancied it political liberty to pay their debts by the 
strong hand; a very easy transition for those who believe them- 
selves able to effect all their objects. The disease has already 
passed out of New York into Pennsylvania; it will spread, like any 
other epidemic, throughout the country; and there will soon be a 
severe struggle among us, between the knave and the honest man. 
Let the class of the latter look to it. It is to be hoped it is still 
sufficiently powerful to conquer. 

These few remarks are made in explanation of certain opinions of 
Mr. Wallingford, that have been extorted from him by the events of 
the day, as he was preparing this work for the press; remarks that 
might seem out of place, were it not a part of his original plan, 
which contemplated enlarging far more lhan he has, indeed, on 
some of the prominent peculiarities of the state of society in which 
ne has passed the greater part of his days. 


MILES WALLINGFORD 


1 


CHAPTER L 

But I’ll not chicle thee ; 

Let shame come when it will, I do not call it ; 

I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot, "" 

Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove; 

Mend when thou canst — 

Lear. 

It is almost as impossible to describe minutely what occurred on 
the boat’s reaching the “ Wallingford,” as to describe all the terrific 
incidents ot the struggle between Drewett and myself in the water. 
I had sufficient perception, however, to see, as I was assisted on 
board by Mr. Hardinge and Neb, that Lucy was not on deck. She 
had probably gone to join Grace, with a view to be in readiness for 
meeting the dire intelligence that was expected. 1 afterward 
learned that she was long on her knees in the after-cabin, engaged 
in that convulsive prayer which is apt to accompany sudden and 
extreme distress in those who appeal to God in their agony. 

During the brief moments, and they were but mere particles of 
time, if one can use such an expression, in which my senses could 
catch anything beyond the horrid scene in which 1 was so closely 
engaged, 1 had heard shrill screams from the lungs of Chloe; but 
Lucy’s voice had not mingled in the outcry. Even now, as we 
were raised, or aided, to the deck, tlie former stood, with her face 
glistening.with tears, half convulsed with terror and half expanding 
with delight, uncertain whether to laugh or to weep, looking first 
at her master and then at her own admirer, until her feelings found 
a vent in the old exclamation of ” de feller!” 

It was fortunate for Andrew Drewett that a man of Post’s ex- 
perience and steadiness was with us. No sooner was the seemingly 
liteless body on board than Mr. Hardinge ordered the water-cask to 
be got out; and he and Marble would have soon been rolling the 
poor fellow with all their might, or holding him up by the heels, 
under the notion that the water he had swallowed must be got out 
of him, before he could again breathe; but the authority ot one so 
high in the profession soon put a stop to this. Drew^ett’s w^et clothes 
were immediately removed, blankets were warmed at the galley, 
and the most judicious means were resorted to, in order to restore 
the circulation. The physician so.on detected signs ot life, and, 
ordering all but one or two assistants to leave the spot, in ten 
minutes Drewett w^as placed in a warm bed, and might be con- 
sidered out ot danger. 

The terrific scene enacted so directly before his eyes, produced an 


10 


MILES WALLIMGFOED. 


ellect on the Alhonny man, who consented to haul aft his main- 
sheet, lower his studding-sail and topsail, come by the wind, stand 
across to the “ Wallingford,” heave-to, and lower a boat. This oc- 
curred just as Drewett was taken below; and, a minute later, old 
Mrs. Drewett and her two daughters, Helen and Caroline, were 
brought alongside of us. The fears of these tender relatives were 
allayed by my report; for, by this time, 1 could both talk and walk; 
and Post raised no objection to their being permitted to go below. 
1 seized that opportunity to jump down into the sloop’s hold, where 
Neb brought me some dry clothes; and 1 was soon in a warm, de- 
lightful glow, that contributed in no small degree to my comfort. 
So desperate had been my struggles, hoA^ever, that it took a good 
night’s rest completely to restore the tone of my nerves and all my 
strength. My arrangements were barely completed, when 1 was 
summoned to the cabin. 

Grace met me with extended arms. She wept on my bosom for 
many minutes. She was dreadfully agitated as it was; though 
happily she knew nothing of the cause of Chloe’s screams, and of 
the confusion on deck until 1 was known to be safe. Then Lucy 
communicated all the facts to her in as considerate a manner as her 
own kind and gentle nature could dictate. 1 was sent for, as just 
stated, and caressed like any other precious thing that its owner had 
supposed itself about to lose. We were still in an agitated state, 
when Mr. Hardinge appeared at the door of the cabin, with a 
prayer-book in his hand. He demanded our attention, all kneeling 
m both cabins, while the good, simple-minded old man read some 
of the collects, the Lord’s Prayer, and concluded with the thanks- 
giving tor “ a safe return from sea!” He would have girren us the 
marriage ceremony itself, before he would have gone out of the 
prayer-book for any united worship whatever. 

It was impossible not to smile at this last act of pious simplicity, 
while it was equally impossible not to be touched with such an evi- 
dence of sincere devotion. The offering had a soothing influence 
on all our feelings, and most especially on those of the excited 
females. As 1 came out into the main cabin, after this aQt of de- 
votion, the excellent divine took me in his arms, kissed me just as 
he had been used to do when a boy, and blessed me aloud. 1 con- 
fess i was obliged to run on deck to conceal my emotion. 

In a few minutes 1 became sufficiently composed to order sail 
made on our course, when we followed the ” Orpheus ” up the 
river, soon passing her, and taking caie to give her a wide berth — a 
precaution I long regretted not having used at first. As Mrs. 
Drewe't and her two daughters refused to quit Andrew’-, we had the 
whole family added to our party, as it might be, perforce. 1 con- 
fess to having been sufficiently selfish to complain a little, to myself 
only, ‘however, at always finding these people in my way, during 
the brief intervals 1 now enjoyed of being near Lucy. As there 
was no help, after seeing all the canvas spread, I took a seat in one 
of the chairs that stood on the main deck, and began, tor the first 
time, coolly to ponder on all that had just passed. While thus oc- 
cupied Marble drew a chair to my side, gave me a cordial squeeze 
of the hand, and began to converse. At this moment, neatly tricked 
out in dry clothes, stood Neb on the forecastle, with his arms folded, 


MILES WALLIMGEOHL. 


11 


sail ©'•-fashion, as calm as if he had never felt the wind blow; occa- 
sionally giving in, however, under the induence of Chloe’s smiles 
and unsophisticated admiration. In these moments of weakness 
the black would bow his head, give vent to a short laugh, when, 
suddenly recovering himself, he would endeavor to appear dignified. 
While this pantomime was in the course of exhibition forward the 
discourse aft did not flag. 

“ Providence intends you for something remarkable, Miles,” my 
mate continued, after one or two brief expressions of his satisfaidion 
at my safety; ” something uncommonly remarkable, depend on it. 
First, you were spared in the boat off the Isle of Bourbon; then, in 
another boat off Delaware Bay; next, you got rid of the French- 
man so dexterously in the British Channel; after that, thei.e was 
the turn up with the bloody Smudge and his companions; next 
comes the recapture of the ‘ Crisis;’ sixthly, as one might say, you 
picked me up at sea, a runaway hermit; and now lieie, this very 
day, seventhly and lastly, are you sitting sate and sound, after car- 
rying as regular a lubber as evei fell overboard, on your head and 
shoulders, down to the bottom of the Hudson no less than three 
times! 1 consider you to be the only man living who ever sunk his 
three times, and came up to tell of it with his own tongue.” 

” 1 am not at all conscious of having said one word about it, 
Moses,” 1 retorted, a little diyly. 

“ Every motion, every glance of your eye, boy, tells the story. 
No; Providence intends ymu for something remarkable, you may 
rely on that. One of these days you may go to Congress— who 
knows?” 

” By the same rule, you are to be included, then; tor in most of 
my adventures you have been a sharer, besides having quantities 
that are exclusively your own. Kemember, you have even been a 
hermit.” 

” Hu-s-h — not a syllable about it, or ihe children would run after 
me as a sight. You must have generalized in a remarkable way, 
Miles, after you sunk the last tim'e, without much hope of coming 
up again?” 

, ” Indeed, mj' friend, you are quite right in your conjecture. Ho 
n^r a view of death is apt to make us all take rapid and wide views 
of the past. 1 believe it even crossed my mind that you would miss 
me sadly.” 

“ Ay,” returned Marble, with feeling, “ them are the moments to 
bring out the truth! Not a juster idee passed your brain than tMt, 
Master Miles, 1 can assure you. Missed you! 1 would have bought 
a boat and started for Marble Band, never again to quit it, the day 
after the funeral. But there stands your cook, fidgeting and look- 
ing this way, as if she had a word to put in on the occasion. This 
expl’ite of Neb’s will set the niggers ud in the world; and it wouldn’t 
surprise me if it cost you a spit of finery all round.” 

‘‘ A price 1 will cheerfully pay for my life. It is as you say — 
Dido certainly wishes to speak to me, and I must give her an in- 
vitation to come nearer.” 

Dido Clawbonny v^as the cook of the family, and the mother of 
Chloe. Whatever hypercriticism might object to her color, which 
was a black out of which all the gloss had fairly glistened itself 


12 


MILES WALLIKGEORL. 


over the Are, no one could deny her being full blown. Her w'eigbt 
was exactly two hundred, and her countenance a strange medley of 
the light-heartedness of her race and the habitual and necessary 
severity of a cook. She often protested that she was weighed down 
by “responsibility;” the whole of the discredit of overdone beef, 
or underdone fish, together with those which attach themselves to 
heavy bread, lead-like buckwheat cakes, and a hundred other sim- 
ilar cases, belonging exclusively to her office. She had been twice 
married, the last connection having been formed only a twelve- 
month before. In obedience to a sign this important lady now ap- 
proached. 

“ Welcome back, Masser Mile,” Dido began with a courtesy, 
meaning, “Welcome back from being half drowned;” “ ebbery- 
body so grad y o u isn ’ t hurt ! ” 

“ Thank you, Dido— thank 3 'ou, with all my heart. If 1 have 
gained nothing else by the ducking, 1 have gained a knowledge of 
the manner in which my servants love me.” 

“ Lor’ bless us all! How we help it, Masser Mile? As if a body 
can posserbl}’ help how lub come and go! Lub jest like religion, 
Masser Mile, some get him, and some don’t. But lub for a young 
masser and a young missus, sar — dat jest as nat’ral, as lub for ole 
masser and ole missus. 1 I’ink nut’in’ of neider.” 

Luckily, 1 was too well acquainted with the Clawbonny dialect 
to need a vocabulary in order to understand the meaning of Dido. 
All she wished to express was the idea that it was so much a matter 
of course for the dependents of the family to love its head, that she 
did not think the mere circumstance, in itself, worthy of a second 
thought. 

“ Well, Dido,” 1 said, “ how does matrimony agree with you, in 
your old age? 1 hear you took a second partner to yourself, while I 
was last at sea.” 

Dido let her eyes fall on the deck, according to the custom of all 
brides, let their color be what it may; manifested a proper degree 
of confusion, then courtesied, turned her lull-moon face so as to re- 
semble a half moon, and answered, with a very suspicious sort of a 
sigh— 

“ Yes, Masser Mile, dat jest so. 1 did t’ink to w^ait and ask ’e 
young masser’s consent; but Cupid say ’’—not the god of love, but 
an old negro of that name, Dido’s second partner- “ but Ciipid say, 
‘ what odd he make to Masser 3iile? he long way off, and he won’t 
care;’ and so, sah, rader than be tormented so by Cupid, one had 
altogedder better be married at once— dat all, sah.” ' 

“And that is quite enough, my good w^oman; that every thing 
may be in rule, 1 give my consent now, and most cheerfully.'” 

‘ T’ankee, sah!” dropping a courtesy, and showing her teeth. 

“ Of course the ceremony w^as performed by our excellent rector 
good Mr. liardinge?” 

“ Sartain, sah— no Clawbonny nigger t’ink he marry at all, ’less 
Masser Hardinge bless him and say Amen. Ebberybody say ’e 
marriage is as good as ole masser and missusses. Dis make two 
time Dido got married; and both time good, lawful ceremunny, as 
ebber was. Oh! yes, sah!” 

“ And 1 hope your change of condition has proved to your mind. 


MILP.S \VA LLIKGFOH P. 


tri 

Dido, now the thing is done. Old Cupid is no great matter in the 
way of beauty, certainly; but he is an honest, sober fellow enough. ’’ 

“Yes, sah, he dat, no one can deny. Ah! Masser Mile, ’em 
’ere step husband, after all,. nebber jest like a body own husband! 
Cupid bei^ry honest, and Jerry sober ; but he only step-husband; and 
dat 1 tell him twenty time already, 1 do t’ink, if trut’ was said.” 

“ Perhaps you have now said it often enough— twenty limes are 
quite suliicieut to tell a man such a tact.” 

“ Yes, sah,” dropping another courtesy, “ if Masser Mile please.” 

“ I do please, and think you have told him that often enough. If 
a man won’t learn a thing in twenty lessons, he is not woith the 
trouble of teaching. So tell him he’s a step-husband no morCj but 
try something else. 1 hope he makes Chloe a good father?” 

“Lor’, sail, he no Chloe’s ladder, at all — Jier ladder dead and 
gone, and nebber come back. 1 want to say a word to young mas- 
ter, ’bout Chloe and dat ’ere fellow, Neb— yes, sah.” 

“Well, what is it. Dido? I see they like each other, and suppose 
they wish to get married, too. IS that the object of your visit? If 
so, 1 consent without waiting to be asked. Neb will make no step- 
husband, 1 can promise you.” 

“ Don’t be in a hurry, Masser Mile,” said Dido, with an eager- 
ness that showed this ready consent was any thing but what she 
wanted, “ Dere many ’jection to Neb when he ask to marry a 
young gal m Chloe situation. You know, sah, Chloe now IVIiss 
Grace’s own waitin’-maid. Nobody else help her dress, oi do any 
thing iin ’e young missus’ room, dan Chloe, sheself — my darter, 
Chloe Clawbonn.Y 1” 

Here w'as a new turn given to the affaii I It was “ like master like 
man.” Neb’s love or lub, for that w^as just the word and just tlie 
idea, too) w^as no more fated to run smooth than my own; and the 
same objection lay against us both, viz., want of gentility! 1 deter- 
mined to say a good word for the poor fellow, however; w^hile it 
would have been exceeding the usage of the family to interfere in 
any other manner than by advice, in an affair of the heart. 

“ If Chloe is my sister’s favorite servant. Dido,” 1 remarked, 
“ you are to remember that Neb is mine.” 

Dat true, sah, and so Chloe say; but dere great difference, Mas- 
ser Mile, atween Clawbonny and a ship. Neb own, himself, young 
masser, he doesn’t even lib in cabin, where you lib, sah.” 

“ All that is true. Dido; but there is a difference of another sort 
between a ship and a house. The house-servant may be more liked 
and trusted than the outdoor servant; but we think, at sea, it is 
more honorable to be a foreipast-hand than to be in the cabin, unlass 
as an officer. 1 was a foremast Jack some time, myself; and Neb 
is only in such a berth as his master once filled. 

“ Dat a great deal— quite won’erful, sah — berry great deal, and 
more flan Cholecan say, or 1 can wish her to say. But, sah, dey say 
now Neb has save ’e young masser’s life, young masser must gib 
him free paper, and no gal of mine shall ebber be free nigger’s wife. 
No, sah; ’sense me from dat disgrace, which, too much'for fait’ful 
ole servant to bear!” 

“ 1 am afraid. Dido, Neb is Ihe same wa}’’ of thinking. 1 offered 
him his freedom the other day, and he refused to receive it. Times 


14 


MILES WALLIKGEOEB. 


are changing in Ibis country; and it will be thought soon It is more 
creditable for a black to be free than to be any man’s slave. The 
law means to free all hands of you, one of these days.” 

” Nebber tell me dat, Masser Mile — dat day nebber come for 
me or mine; even ole Cupid know better dan dat. Now, sail, Misser 
Van Blarcum’s Brom want to have Chloe, dreadful; but 1 nebber 
consent to sich a uner ” — Dido meant union — “ nebber. Our fam- 
ily, sail, allogedder too good to marry in among the Van Blarcums. 
Nebber has been, and never shall be uner atween ’em.” 

” 1 was not aware. Dido, that the Clawboimy slaves were so 
particular about their connections.” 

” Won’erful particular, sah, and ebber hab been, and ebber will 
be. Don’t t’ink, Masser Mile, 1 marry ole Cupid, myself, if anoder 
prop’r connection offer in ’e family; but 1 prefar him, to marry into 
Oder family hereabout.” 

‘‘Neb is Clawbonny, and my great friend; so I hope you will 
think better of his suit. Some day Chloe may like to be free; and 
Neb will always have it in his power to make his wife free, as 
well as himself.” 

“ Sah, I t’ink as you say, Masser Miles, sah-^when 1 hab done 
finkin’, sah, hope young masser and young missus hear what ole 
cook got to say, afore ’ey gives consent.” 

” Certainly; Chloe is your daughter, and she shall pay you all 
due respect— for that, I will answer for my sister as well as for my- 
self. We will never encourage disrespect for parents. ” 

Dido renewed and redoubled her thanks, made another profound 
courtesy, and withdrew wMth a dignity that, 1 dare say, in Neb’s 
and Chloe’s eyes, boded little good. As for myself, 1 now mused 
on the character of the things of this world. Here were people of 
the very humblest class known in a nation — nay, of a class sealed 
by nature itself, and doomed to inferiority— just as tenacious of the 
very distinctions that were making me so miserable, and against 
which certain persons, w'ho are wiser than the rest of the world, de- 
claim without understanding them, and even go so far, sometimes, 
as to deny their existence. My cook reasoned, in her sphere, much 
as 1 knew that Rupert reasoned, as the Drewetts reasoned, as the 
world reasoned, and, as 1 feared, even Lucy reasoned in my own 
case! The return of Marble, who had left my side as soon as Dido 
opened her budget, prevented my dwelling long on this strange — 1 
had almost said, uncouth — coincidence, and brought my mind back 
to present things. 

‘‘As the old woman has spun her yarn. Miles,” the mate re- 
sumed, ‘‘ we will go on with matters and things. I have been talk 
ing with the mother of the youngster that fell overboard, and giving 
her some advice for the benefit of her son in time to come, and what 
do you think she gives as the reason for the silly thing he did?” 

‘‘ It is quite out of my power to say — that he was a silly fellow, 
natuially, perhaps.” 

” Love. It seems the poor boy is in love with this sweet friend 
of yours, Rupert’s sister, and it was nothing more nor less than love 
which made him undertake to play rope-dancer on our main-boom!” 

‘‘ Did Mrs. Drewett tell you this with her own moutli. Marble?” 

“That did she, Captain Wallingford, for, while you w^ere dis- 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


15 

cussing Neb and Chloe with old Dido, we, that is, the doctor, the 
mother and myself, were discussing Andrew and Lucy between 
ourselves. The good old lady gave me to understand it was a set- 
tled thing, and that she looked on Miss Hurdinge already as a third 
daughter.” 

This was a strange subject for Mrs. Drewett to discuss with a 
man like Marble, or even with Post, but some allowances were to 
be made tor Marble’s manner of viewing his own connection with 
the dialogue, and more tor the excited condition of the mother’s 
feelings. She w'as scarcely yet in possession ot all her faculties, 
and might very well commit an indiscretion of this nature, more 
especially in her conversation with a man in Post’s position, over- 
looking or disregarding the presence of the mate. The effect of all 
that had passed was to leave a strong impression on my mind that 
I was too late. Lucy must be engaged, and waited only to become 
of age, in order to make the settlements she intended in favor ot 
her brother, ere she was married. Her manner to myself was 
merely the result of habit and sincere friendship, ar little increased 
in interest and gentleness, perhaps, on account of the grievous 
wrong she felt we had received from Eupert. Whai right had 1 to 
complain, admitting all this to be true? 1 had scarcely been aware 
of my own passion for the dear girl, for years, and had certainly 
never attempted to make her acquainted with it. She had made me 
no pledges, plighted no faith, received no assurances of attachment, 
was under no obligation to wait my pleasure. So sincere was my 
aftection for Lucy, that 1 rejoiced even in my misery, when 1 re- 
membered that not the slightest imputation could be laid on her 
deportment, truth, or frankness. On the whole, it was perhaps the 
more natural that she should love Andrew Drewett, one she met for 
the first time after she became of an ase to submit to such impres- 
sions, than to love me, whom she hfKl been educated to treat with 
the familiarity and confidence of a brother. Yes, 1 was even just 
enough to admit this. 

The scene of the morning, and the presence of Mrs. Drewett and 
her daugnter, produced an entire change in the spirits and inter- 
course of our party. Tire ladies remained below most of the time, 
and as for Drewett himself, he was advised by Post not to quit his 
berth until he found his strength restored. Mr. Hardinge passed 
much time by Andrew Drewett’s side, ofiering such attentions as 
might be proper from a father to a son. At least it so seemed to me. 
'rhis left Marble and myself in possession ot the ([uarter-deck, 
though we had occasional visits from all below— Grace, Lucy, and 
old Mrs. Drewett excepted. 

In the meantime, the “ Wallingford ” continued to ascend the 
river, favored unti levening by a light southerly breeze. She outsailed 
everything, and, just as the sun was sinking behind the fine ter- 
mination of ' the Oatskill range -of mounains, we were some miles 
above the outlet of the stream that; has lent it its name. 

A lovelier landscape can scarce be imagined than that which pre- 
sented itself from the deck of the sloop. It was the first time 1 had 
ascended the river, or, indeed, that any of the C la wbonn}’- party had 
been up it so high, Mr. Hardinge excepted; andeverbody was called 
on deck to look at the beauties of the hour. The sloop was about a 


16 


MILES WALLIXGEOIiD, 


mile above Hudson, and the view was to be gazed at toward the 
south. This IS, perhaps, the finest reach ot this very beautitul 
stream, though it is not the fashion to think so; the Highlands 
being the part usually preferred. It is easy enough for me, who 
have since lived among the sublimity of the Swiss and Italian lakes, 
to understand that there is nothing of a very sublime character 
relatively considered, in any of the reaches of the Hudson; but 
it would be difficult to find a river that has so much which is 'ex- 
quisitely beautitul; and this, too, of a beauty which borders on the 
grand. Lucy was the first person to create any doubts in my mind 
concerning the perfection ot the Highlands. Just as the cockney 
declaims about Kichmond Hill — the inland view from Mont-Martre, 
of a clouded day, is worth twenty of it — but just as the provincial 
London cockney declaims about Richmond Hill, so has the pro- 
vincial Americah been in the habit of singing the praises of the 
Highlands of the Hudson. The last are sufficiently striking, 1 will 
allow; but they are surpassd in their own kind by a hundred known 
mountain landscapes; while the softer parts of the river have 
scarcely a rival. Lucy, 1 repeat, was the first person to teach me 
this distinction — Lucy, who then had never seen either Alps or 
Apennines.- But her eye was true as her principles, her tongue, or 
her character. All was truth about this dear girl — truth unadulter- 
ated and unalloyed. 

“ Certainly, my dear Mrs. Drewett,” the dear girl said, as she 
stood supporting the old lady, who leaned on her arm, gazing at the 
glorious sunset, “ the Highlands have nothing to equal this! fio 
me this seems all that art could achieve; W'hile 1 confess the views 
in the mountains have ever appeared to want something that the 
mind can imagine.” 

Mrs. Hrewelt, though a respectable, was a commonplace woman. 
She belonged to the vast class that do most ot their thinking by 
proxy; but it was a sort of heresy in her eyes to fancy anything 
could surpass the Highlands. Boor Mrs. Drewett! She was exceed- 
ingly cockney, without having the slightest suspicion of it. Her 
best ought to be everybody else’s best. She combated Lucy’s notion 
warmly therefore, protesting that the Highlands could not have a 
superior. This is a sort of argument it is not easy to overcome; and 
her companion was content to admire the scene before her in silence, 
after urging one or two reasons in support of her opinion, in her own 
(juiet, unpretending manner. 

I overheard this little argument, and was a close observer of the 
manner of the parties. Mrs. Drewett was extremely indulgent, even 
while warmest, seeming to me to resist Lucy’s opinion as an affec- 
tionate mother would contend with the mistaken notions of a very 
favorite child. On the other hand, Lucy appeared confiding, and 
spoke as' the young ot her sex are most apt to do, when they utter 
th(;ir thoughts to ears they feel must be indulgent. 

A sunset can not last forever; and even this, sweet as it had been, 
soon became tame and tasteless to me. As the ladies now disap- 
peared 1 determined to anchor, the wind tailing, and the tide com- 
ing ahead. Marble and myself haJ a sort of state-room fitted up 
for us in the hold, and thither Iw’asglad to retire, standing really in 
need of rest, after the terrible exertions of that day. What paked 


MILES WALLII^GFORD. 


11 

in the cabins that evening, 1 had no opportunity of knowing, though 
1 heard laughing, and happy female voices, through the bulkheads, 
hours after my oArn head was on its pillow. When Marble came 
down to turn in, he told me the cabin party had revived, and that 
there had been much pleasant discourse among tlie young people; 
and this in a way to cause even him to derive great satisfaction, as 
a listener. 

Neb gave us a call at daylight. The wind was fresh at west- 
norlh-west, but the tide was just beginning to run on the flood. 1 
was so impatient to be rid of my guests, that all hands were called 
immediately, and we got the sloop under way. The pilot professed 
himself willing to beat up through the narrow passages above, and 
the “ Wallingtord’s ” greatest performance being on the wind; 1 
was determined to achieve my deliverance that very tide. The 
sloop drew more water than was usual for the up-river craft, it is 
true; but she was light, and just at the moment, could go wherever 
the loaded Albany vessels went. Those were not the days of vast 
public works; and, ss for sea-going craft, none had ever crossed the 
Overslaugh, so tar as had come to my knowledge. Times have 
changed greatly since; but the reader will remember 1 am writing of 
that remote period in American history, the year of our Lord 1803. 

The anchor was no sooner aweigh, than the deck became a scene 
of activity. Ihe breeze was stiff, and it enabled me to show the 
“Wallingford” oft to advantage among the dull, flat-bottomed 
craft of that day. There were reaches in which the wind favored 
us, too; and, by the time the ladies reappeared we were up among 
the islands worming our way through the narrow channels with 
rapidity and skill. To me and to Marble also the scene was entire- 
ly novel; and between the activity that our evolutions required, and 
the constant change of scene, we had little leisure to attend to those 
in the cabin. Just as breakfast was announced, indeed, the vessel 
was approaching the more difficult part of the river; and all we 
got of that meal, we took on deck, at snatches, between the many 
lacks we made. As good luck would have it, however, the wind 
backed more to the westward about eight o’clock; and we were 
enabled to stem the tide that began to make at the same time. This 
gave us the hope of reaching the end of our passage without again 
anchoring. 

At length we reached the Overslaugh, which, as was apt to be the 
case, was w^ell sprinkled with vessels aground. The pilot carried 
us through them all, however; if not literally with flying colors, 
which would have been regarded as an insult by the less fortunate, 
at least wdth complete success. Then Albany came into view lean- 
ing against its sharp acclivity, and spreading over its extensive 
bottom-land. It was not the town it is to day, by quite three- 
fourths less in dwellings and people; but it was then, as now, one 
of the most picturesque-looking places in America, There is no 
better proof, in its way, how much more influence the talking and 
writing part of mankind have than the mere actors, than is to be 
found in the relative consideration of Albany, on the scale of ap- 
pearance and position, as compared with those enjoyed by a hun- 
dred other towns, more especially in the Eastern States. Almost 
without a competitor, as to beauty of situation, or at least on a level 


18 


MILES WALLIKGEOKD. 


with Richmond and Burlington, among the inland towns, it was 
usually esieemed a Dutch place that every pretender was at liberty 
to deride, in my younger days, We are a peopld by no means ad 
dieted to placing our caudle under the bushel, and yet 1 can not 
recall a single civil expression in any native writer touching the 
beauties of Albany. It may have been owing to the circumstance 
that so much of the town Tvas under the hill at the beginning of the 
century, and that strangers had few opportunities of seeing it to ad- 
vantage; but 1 rather think its want of the Anglo-Saxon origin was 
the principal reason it was so little in favor. 

Glad enough was 1 to reach the wharves, with their line of store- 
liouses,. that then literally spouted wheat into the sloops that crowded 
the quays, on its way to feed the contending armies of Europe. Late 
as it was in the season, wheat was still pouring outward through all 
the channels of the country, enriching the farms with prices that 
frequently rose as high as two dollars and a half the bushel, and 
sometimes as high as three. "Yet no one was so poor in America as 
to want bread! The dearer the grain, the higher the w^ages of the 
laborer, and the better he lived. 

It was not at all late when the “ Wallingford ” was slowly ap- 
proaching the wharf where it was intended to bring up. There w'as 
a sloop ahead of us, which we had b^en gradually approaching for 
the last two hours, but which w'as enabled to keep in advance in 
consequence of the lightness of the wind. This dying away of the 
breeze rendered the approaching noontide calm and pleasant; and 
everybody in-board, even to Grace, came on deck, as we moved 
sh)wiy past the dwellings on the eastern bank, in order to get a 
view’' of the town. 1 proposed that the Clawbonny party should 
land, contrary to our original intention, and profit by tlm oppor- 
tunity to see the political capital of the State at our leisure. Both 
Grace and Lucy were inclined to listen favorably; and theDrewetts. 
Andrew and his sisters, were delighted at this prospect of our re- 
maining together a little longer. Just at thi§ nioment, the “ Wal- 
lingford,” true to her character, was coming up with the sloop 
ahead, and was already doubling on her quarter. 1 was giving 
some orders, when Lucy and Chloe, supportipg Grace, passed me 
on their way to the cabin. My poor sister was pale as death, and 1 
could see that she trembled so much she could hardly walk. A 
significant glance from Lucy bade me not to interfere, and 1 had 
sufficient self-command to obey. I turned to look at the neighbor- 
ing sloop, and found at once an explanation of my sister’s agitation. 
The Mertons and Rupert were on her quarter-deck, and so near as 
to render it impossible to avoid speaking, at least to the former. At 
this embarrassing instant Lucy returned to my side, with a view, as 
1 afterward learned, to urge me to carry the “ Wallingford ” to 
some place so distant, as to remove the danger of any intercourse. 
This accident rendered the precaution useless, the wdiole party in the 
other vessel catching sight of my companion at the same moment. 

” This is an agreeable surprise!” called out Emily, in whose eyes 
Rupert’s sister could not be an object of indifference. “ By your 
brother’s and Mrs, Diewett’s account, we had supposed you at Ola w^- 
bonny, by the bedside of Miss Wallingford.” 


MILES ■VVALLIMGEORn. 


10 

“ Miss Wallingford is here, as are my father, and Mrs. Drev\"ett, 
and — ” 

Lucy never let it be known who that other “ and ” was intended 
to include. 

“ MTell, this is altogether surprising!” put in Rupert, with a steadi- 
ness of voice that really astounded me. ' ‘ At the very moment we 
were giving you lots of credit for your constancy in friendship, and 
all that sort of thing, here you are. Mademoiselle Lucy, trotting oft 
to the Springs, like all the rest of us, bent on pleasure.” 

‘ No, Rupert,” answered Luc 3 % in a tone which 1 thought conld 
not fail to bring the heartless coxcomb to some sense of the feeling 
he ought to manifest; ” 1 am going to no Springs. Doctor Post has 
advised a change of scene and air for Grace; and Miles has brought 
us all up in his sloop, that we may endeavor to contribute to the 
dear sufferer’s comfort, in one united family. We shall not land 
in Albany.” 

I took my cue from these last words, and understood that 1 was 
not even to bring the sloop alongside the wharf. 

‘‘ L'pon my word, jt is just as she says, colonel!” cried Rupert. 
” I can see my father on the forecastle, with Post, and divers others 
of my acquaintance. Ay— and there’s Drewett, as 1 live! Wallinir- 
ford, too! How fare you, noble captain, up in this fresh- water 
stream? You must be strangely out of your latitude.” 

” How do you do, Mr. Hardinge?” 1 coldly returned the saluta- 
tion ; and then 1 was obliged to speak to the major and his daugh- 
ter. But Neb was at the helm, and 1 had given him a sign to sheer 
further from our companion. This soon reduced the intercourse to 
a few wavings of handkerchiefs, and kissings of the hand, in which 
all the Drewetts came in for a share. As for Lucy, she walked 
aside, and I seized the occasion to get a word m private. 

‘‘ What am 1 to do with the sloop?” 1 asked. ” It will soon be 
necessary to come to some decision.” 

‘‘ By no means go to the wharf. Oh! this has been most cruel. 
The cabin windows are open, and Grace must have heard every syl- 
lable. Not even a question as to her health! 1 dread to go below 
and witness the effect.” 

1 wished not to speak of Rupert to his sister, and avoided the 
subject. The question, therefore, was simply repeated. Lucy in- 
quired if it were not possible to land our passengers without bring- 
ing-up, and, hearing the truth on the subject, she renewed her en- 
treaties not to land. Room was taken accordingly, and the sloop, 
as soon as high enough, was rounded-to, and the boat lowered. The 
portmanteau of Post was placed in it, and the Drewetts were told 
that everything was ready to put them ashore. 

” Surely we are not to part thus!” exclaimed the old lady. ” You 
intend to laud, Lucy, it not to accompany us to Ballston? The 
waters might prove of service to Miss Wallingford.” 

Doctor Post thinks not, but advises us to return tranquilly down 
the river. We may yet go as far as Sandy Plook, or even into the 
Sound. It all depends on dear Grace’s strength and inclinations.” 

Protestations of regret and disappointment followed, for every- 
body appeared to think mucli of Lucy, and very little of my poor 
sister. Some attempts were even made at persuasion, but the quiet 


20 MILES WALLlKGFORlJ. 

firmness of Lucy soon convinced her friends that she was not to he 
diverted from her purpose. Mr. Hardinge, too, had a word to say 
in confirmation of his daughter’s decision; and the travelers reluc- 
tantly prepared to enter the boat. After he had assisted his mother 
over the sloop’s side, Andrew Drewett turned to me, and in fair, 
gentleman-like, manly language, expressed his sense of the service J 
had rendered him. After this acknowledgment, the first he had 
made, I could do no less than shake his hand; and we parted in the 
manner of those who have conferred and received a favor. 

1 could perceive that Lucy’s color heightened, and that she looked 
exceedingly gratified, while this little scene was in the course of 
being acted, though 1 was unable to comprehend the precise feeling 
that was predominant in her honest and truthful heart. Did that 
increased color proceed from pleasure at the handsome manner in 
w'^hich Drewett acquitted himself of one of the most embarrassing 
of all our duties — the admission of a deep obligation? or was it in 
any manner connected with her interest in me? I could not ask, 
and of course did not learn. This scene, however, terminated our 
intercourse with the Drewetts, for Uie momnnt, the boat pulling 
away immediately after. 


CHAPTER II. 

Misplaced in life, 

I know not what I could have been, but feel 
I am not what I should be — let it end. 

Sardanapalus. 

Glad enough too was 1 to find the quiet and domestic character 
of my vessel restored. Lucy had vanished as soon as it was proper, . 
but, agreeably to her request, 1 got the sloop’s head down-stream, 
and began our return passage, without even thinking of putting a 
foot on the then unknown land of Albany. Marble was too much 
accustomed to submit without inquiry to the movements of the 
vessel he was in, to raise any objections, and the “ Wallingford,” her 
boat in tow, was soon turning down with the tide, aided by a light 
w^esterly wind, on her homeward course. This change kept all on 
deck so busy, that it was some little time ere 1 saw Lucy again. 
When we did meet, however, 1 found her sad, and full of apprehen- 
sion. Grace had evidently been deeply hurt by Kupert’s deport- 
ment. The effect on her frame was such, that it was desirable to 
let her be as little disturbed as possible. Lucy hoped she might fall 
asleep, tor, like an infant, her exhausted physical powers sought 
relief in this resource, almost as often as the state of her mind would 
permit. . Her existence, although 1 did not then know it, was like 
that of tiie llame whfch flickers in the air, and which is endangered 
by the .slightest increase of the current to which the lamp may be 
exposed. 

We succeeded in getting across the Overslaugh without touching, 
and had got down among the islands below Coejimans’* when 
we were met by the new flood. The wind dying away to a calm, 

* Queeman’s, as pronoimced. This is a Dutch, not an Indian, name, and be- 
Jpngs to a I’espectable New York faaiiilj. 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


21 


We were compelled to select a berth, and anchor. As soon as we 
were snue, 1 sought an interview with Lucy, but the dear girl sent 
me word by Cliloe that Grace was dozing, and that she could not 
see me just at that moment, as her presence in the cabin was nec- 
essary in order to maintain silence. On receiving this message, 1 
ordered the boat hauled up alongside; Marble, myself, and Neb got 
in; when the black sculled us ashore — Chloe grinning at the latter’s 
dexterity, as with one hand and a mere plaj’- of the wrist he caused 
the water to foam under the bows of our little bark. 

The spot where we landed was a small but lovely cove, that was 
shaded by three or four enormous weeping-willows,, and presented 
the very picture of peace and repose. It was altogether a retired 
and rural bit, there being near it no regular landing, no reels tor 
seines, nor any of those signs that denote a place of resort. A single 
cottage stood on a small natural terrace, elevated some ten or twelve 
feet above the rich bottom that sustained the wallows. This cot- 
tage was the very beau ideal of rustic neatness and home comfort. 
It was of stone, one story in height, with high pointed roof, and 
had a Dutch-looking gable that faced the river, and wmich con- 
tained the porch and outer door. The stones were white as the 
driven snow, having been washed a few weeks before. The win- 
dows had the charm of irregularity, and everything about the 
dwelling proclaimed a former century, and a regime different from 
that under which we were then living. In fact, the figures 1698, let 
in as iron braces to the wall of the gable, announced that the house 
was quite as old as the second structure at Claw^bonny. 

The garden of this cottage was not large, but it was in admirable 
order. '"It lay entirely in the rear of the dwelling; and behind it, 
again, a small Orchard, containing about a hundred trees, on which 
th^e fruit began to show itself in abundance, lay against the sort ol 
amphitheater that almost inclosed this little nook against the in- 
trusion and sight of the rest of the world. There were also half a 
dozen huge cherry trees, from which the fruit had not y(;t altogether 
disappeared, near the house, to which they served the double pur- 
pose of ornament and shade. The outhouses seemed to be as old 
as the dwelling, and were in quite as good order. 

As we drew near the shore, I directed Neb to cease sculling, and 
sat gazing at this picture of retirement, and, apparently, of con- 
tent, while the boat drew toward the gravelly beach, under the im- 
petus already received. 

“ This is a hermitage 1 think 1 could stand. Miles,” said Marble, 
whose look had not been oft the spot since the moment we left the 
sloop’s side. “ This is what I should call a human hermitage, and 
none of your out and out solitudes. Room for pigs and poultry: a 
nice gravelly beach for your boat, good fishing in the offing; I’ll 
answer for it a snug shoulder-of-mutton sort of a house; trees as 
big as a two-decker’s lower masts; and company within hail, 
should a fellow happen to take it into his head that he was getting 
melancholy. That is just the spot I would like to fetch up in, when 
it became time to go into dock. What a place to smoke a cigar in 
is that bench up yonder, under the cherry tree; and grog must have 
a double flavor alongside of that spring of fresh water!” 

*' You could become the owner of this very place, Moses, and then 


‘22’ MTLES WALLTKOFORB. 

we should be neij^hbors, and might visit each other by water. It 
can not be much more than miles from this spot to Clawbonny.^' 

“ 1 dare say now, that they would think of asking, for a place 
like this, as much money {is would buy a good wholesome ship — a 
regular A No. 1." 

“No such thing; a thoimnd or twelve hundred dollars would 
purchase the house, and all the land we can see — some twelve or 
fifteen acres, at the most. You have more than two thousand salted 
away, 1 know, Moses, between prize money, wages, adventures, and 
other matters. 

“ 1 could hold my head up under two thousand, of a sartainty. 
I wish the place was a little nearer Clawbonn}'', say eight or ten 
miles off; and then 1 do think 1 should talk to the people about a 
trade.” 

“ It’s quite unnecessary, after all. 1 have quite as snug a cove, 
near the creek bluff at Olawbonny, and will build a house for you 
there, you shall not tell from a ship’s cabin; that would be more to 
your fancy.” 

“I’ve thought of that, too. Miles, and at one time fancied it 
would be a prettyish sort of an idee; but it won’t stand logarithms, 
at all. You may build a room that shall have its cabin look, but 
you can’t build one thiit’ll have a cabin natur*. You may get 
carlins, and transoms, and lockers, and bulkheads all right; but 
W' here are you to get your motion? What’s a cabin without mo- 
tion? It would soon be like the sea in the calm latitudes, offensive 
to the senses. 'No! none of your bloody motionless cabins for me. 
If I’m afloat, let me be afloat; if I’m ashore, let me be ashore.” 

Ashore we were by this time, the boat’s keel grinding gently on 
the pebbles of the beach. We landed and walked toward the cot- 
tage, there being nothing about the place to forbid our taking this 
liberty. I told Marble we would ask for a drink of milk, two cows 
being in sight, cropping the rich herbage of a beautiful little past- 
ure. This expedient at first seemed unnecessary, no one appearing 
about the place to question our motives, or to oppose our progress. 
When we had reached the door of the cottage, we found it open, and 
could look within without violating any of the law^s of civilization. 
There was no vestibule, or entry; but the door communicated di- 
rectly with a roem of some size, and which occupied the whole 
front of the building. I dare say this single room was twenty feet 
square, besides being of a height a little greater than was then cus- 
tomary in buildings of tlnit class. This apartment was neatness 
itself. It had a home-made, but really pretty carpet on the floor; 
contained a dozen old-fashioned, high-back chairs, in some dark 
wood; two or three tables, in which one might see his face; a coiqrle 
of mirror's of no great size, but of quaint gilded ornaments; a buffet 
with some real china in it; and the other "usual articles of a country 
residence that was somewhat above the ordinary farm-houses of the 
region, and yet as much below the more modest of the abodes of the 
higher class. 1 supposed the cottage to be the residence of some 
small family that had seen more of life than was customary with the 
mere husbandman, and yet not enough to raise it much above the 
level of the husbandman’s homely habits. 

We were looking in from the porch on this scene of rural peace 


MILES WALLIJs-GFOED. 


23 

and faultless neatness, when an inner door opened in the deliberate 
manner that betokens age, and the mistress ot the cottage appeared. 
She was a woman approaching seventy, of middle size, a quiet, but 
firm step, and an air of health. Her dress was of the fashion of the 
previous century, plain but as neat as everything around her— a 
spotless white apron seeming to bid defiance to the approach of any 
thing that could soil its purity. The countenance of this old woman 
certainly did not betoken any of the refinement which is the result 
of education and good company; but denoted benevolence, a kind 
nature, and feeling. We were saluted without surprise, and invited 
in, to be seated. 

“ It isn’t often that sloops anchor here,’' said the old wmman— 
lady it would be a stretch of politeness to call her— “ their tavor^fe 
places being higher up, and lower down, the river.” 

” And how do you account for that, mother?” asked Marble, who 
seated himself and addressed the mistress of the cottage with a sea- 
man’s frankness. ” To my fancy, this is the best anchorage I’ve 
seen in many a day — one altogether to be coveted. One might be as 
much alone as he liked in a spot like this, without absolutely turn- 
ing your bloody hermit.” 

The old woman gazed at Marble like one who scarce knew what 
to make of such an animal; and yet her look was mild and indul- 
gent. 

‘‘ 1 account for the boatmen’s preferring other pMces to this,” she 
said, ” by the circumstance that there is no tavern here; while there 
is one two miles above, and another two miles below us.” 

‘‘Your remark that there is no tavern here reminds me of the 
necessity of apologizing for coming so boldly to your door,” 1 an- 
swered; ” but we sailors mean no impertinence, though w'e are so 
often guilty of it in landing.” 

” You are heartily welcome. 1 am glad to see them that under- 
stand how to treat an old w'oman kindly, and know how to pity and 
pardon them that do not. At my time of life we get to learn the 
value of fair words and good treatment, for it’s only a short time it 
will be in our power to show either to our fellow-creatures.” 

” A our favorable disposition to your fellows comes from living 
all your days in a spot as sweet as this.” 

” I would much rather think that it comes from God. He alone 
is the source of all that is good within us.” 

‘‘Yet a spot like this must have its influence on a character. I 
dare say you have lived long in this very house, which, old as you 
profcvss to be, seems to be much older than j^ourself. It has prob- 
ably been your abode ever since your marriage?” 

‘‘ And long before, sir. 1 was born in this house, as was my fa- 
ther before me. You are right in saying that 1 have dwelt in it 
ever since my marriage, for 1 dwelt in it long before.” 

‘‘ This is not vei}' encouraging for my friend here, who took such 
a fancy to your cottage, as w^e came ashore, as to wish to own it; 
but 1 scai’ce think he will venture to purchase, now he know’s how 
dear it must be to yon.” 

” And has your friend no home— no place in which to put his 
family?” 

‘‘ Keither home nor family, my good mother,” answere«’l Marble 


24 


MILES AVALLlifG^OKD. 

for himself; “ and so much the greater reason, you will think, why 
1 ought to begin to think of getting both as soon as possible. 1 
never had father or mother, to my knowledge; nor house, nor 
home, of any sort, but a ship. 1 forgot; 1 was a hermit once, and 
set myself up in that trade, with a whole island to myself; but 1 
soon gave up all to natur', and get out of that scrape as fast as 1 
could. The business didn’t suit me.” 

The old M'oman looked at Marble intently. 1 could see by her 
countenance that the off-hand, sincere, earnest manner of the mate 
had taken some unusual hold of her feelings. 

“Hermit!” the good woman repeated with curiosity; “1 have 
often heard and read of such people; but you are not at all like 
them 1 have fancied to be hermits.” 

“ Another proof 1 undertook a business for which 1 was not fit. 
1 suppose a man before he sets up for a hermit ought to know some- 
thing of his ancestors, as one looks to the pedigree of a horse in 
order to find out whether he is fit for a racer. Now, as 1 happen to 
know nothing of mine, it is no wonder 1 fell into a mistake. It’s 
an awkward thing, old lady, for a man to be born without a name.” 

The eye of our hostess was still bright and full of animation, and 
1 never saw a keener look than she fastened on the mate, as he de- 
livered himself in this, one of his usual fits of misanthropical feeling. 

“ And were you born without a name?” she asked, after gazing 
intently at the other. 

“ Sartain. Everybody is born with only one name; but 1 hap- 
pened to be born without any name at all.” 

“ This is so extr’or’nary,” added our old hostess, more interested 
than 1 could have supposed possible for a stranger to become in 
Marble’s rough bitterness, “ that I should like to hear ho-w such a 
thing could be.” 

“ 1 am quite ready to tell you all about it, mother; but as one 
good turn deserves another, I shall ask you first to answer me a 
few questions about the owmership of this house, and cove, and 
orchard. AVheii you have told your story, I am ready to tell mine.” 

“ 1 see how it is,” said the old woman, in alarm. “ You are sent 
here by Mr. Van Tassel, to inquire about the money due on the 
mortgage, and to learn w^hether it is likely to be paid "or not.” 

“ We are not sent here at all, my good old lady,” 1 now thought 
it time to interpose, for the poor woman was very obviously much 
alarmed, and in a distress that even her aged and wrinkled counte- 
nance could not entirely conceal. “ We are just what you see- 
people belonging to that sloop, who have come ashore to stretch 
their legs, and have never heard of any Mr. Van Tassel, or any 
money, or any mortgage.” 

“Thank Heaven for that!” exclaimed the old woman, seeming 
to relieve her mind, as well as body, by a heavy sigh. “ Squire 
Van Tassel is a hard man; and a widow woman, with no relative at 
hand but a granddarter that is just sixteen, is scarce able to meet 
him. My poor old husband always maintained that the money had 
been paid; but now he is dead and gone, Squire Van Tassel brings 
forth the bond and mortgage, and says, ‘ If younan prove that-these 
are paid, I’m willing to give them up.’ ” 

“This is so strange an occurrence, my dear old lady,” 1 ob- 


MILES WALLII^CtF()*R1). 


Oft; 

served, “ that you have only to make us acquainted with the tacts, 
to get another supporter in addition to your granddaughter. It 
is true, 1 am a stranger, and have come here purely by accident; 
but Providence sometimes appears to work in this mysterious man- 
ner, and 1 have a strong presentiment we may be of use to you. 
Relate your ditficulties, then; and you shall have the best legal ad- 
vice in the State, should your case require it." 

The old woman seemed embarrassed; but, at the same time, she 
seemed touched. We were utter strangers to her, it is true; yet 
there is a language in sympathy which goes beyond that ot the 
tongue, and which, coming from the heart, goes to the heart. 1 
was quite sincere in my otters, and this sinckity appears to have 
produced its customary fruits. 1 was believed; and, after wiping 
away a tear or two that forced themselves into her eyes, our hostess 
answered me as frankly as 1 had offered my aid. 

“ You do not look like Squire Van TaBsel’s men, for they seem 
to me to think the place is theirs already. Such craving, covetous 
creatures I never before laid eyes.on! 1 hope 1 may trust you!" 

" Depend on us, mother," cried Marble, giving the old woman a 
cordial squeeze of the hand. “ My heart is in this business, for 
my mind was half made up, at first sight, to own this spot myself — 
by honest purchase, you’ll understand me, and not by any of your 
land-shark tricks — and, such being the case, you can easily think 
I’m not inclined to let this Mr. Tassel have it." 

“ It would be almost as sorrowful a thing to sell this place,” the 
good woman answered, her .countenance confirming all she said in 
words, " as to have it torn from me by knaves. 1 have told you 
that even my father was born in this very house. 1 was his only 
child; and when God called him away, which he did about twelve 
years after my marriage, the little farm came to me, of course. 
Mine it would have been at this moment, without let or hinderance 
of any sort, but for a fault committed in early youth. Ah! my 
friends, it is hopeless to do evil, and expect to escape the conse- 
quences." 

‘‘The evil you have done, my good mother," returned Marble, 
endeavoring to console the poor creature, down whose cheeks the 
tears now fairly began to run; “ the evil you have done, my good 
mother, can be no great matter. If it was a question about a rough 
tar like myself, or even of Miles there, who’s a sort of sea-saint, 
something ruigbt be made ot it, 1 make no doubt; but your ac- 
count must be pretty much all credit, and no debtor.” 

" That is a state that befalls none of earth, my young friend’’ — 
Marble was young, compared to his companion, though a plump 
fifty. “ My sin was no less than to break one of God’s command- 
ments." 

1 could see that my mate was a good deal confounded at this in- 
genuous admission; for, in his ej’^es, breaking the commandments 
was either killing, stealing, or blaspheming. The other sins of the 
decalogue he had come by habit to regard as peccadilloes. 

“ 1 think this must be a mistake, mother,” he said, in a sort of 
consoling tone. “You may have, fallen into some oversights, or 
mistakes; but this breaking of the commandments is rather seriou« 
sort of work." _ 


MTLES W a LLl ]S^ G FOR D. 


2G 

“ Yet 1 broke the fifth; 1 forgot to honor my father and mother. 
Nevertheless, the Lord has been gracious; for my days have already 
leached threescore- and- ten. But this is his goodness— not any merit 
of my ownl” 

“ Is it not a proof that the error has been forgiven?" I ventured 
to remark. “ If penitence can purchase peace, 1 feel certain you 
have earned that relief." 

" One never knows! I think this calamity of the mortgage, and 
the danger I run of dying without a roof to cover my head, may be 
all traced up to that one act of disobedience. 1 have been a mother 
myself — may say 1 am a mother now, for mj'^ granddaughter is as 
dear to me as was her blessed mother — and it is when we look down, 
rather than when we look up, as it migiit be, that we get to under- 
stand the true virtue of this commandment." 

"If It were impertinent curiosity that instigates the question, my 
old Irieud," I added, " it would not be in my power to look you in 
the face, as 1 do now, while begging you to let me know your 
ditficulties. Tell them in your -own manner, but tell them with 
confidence; for, I repeat, we have the power to assist you, and can 
command the best legal advice of the country." 

Again the old woman looked at me intently through her specta- 
cles; then, as if her mind was made up to confide in our honesty, 
she disburdened it of its secrets. 

" It would be wrong to tell you a part of my story, without telling 
you all," she began; " foF you might think* Van Tassel and his set 
are alone to blame, while my conscience tells me that little has hap- 
pened that is not a just punishment for my great sin. You’ll have 
patience, therefore, with an old woman, and hear her whole tale; 
for mine is not a time of life to mislead any. The days of w^hite- 
heads are numbered; and, was it not for Kitty, the blow would not 
be quite so hard on me. You must know we are Dutch by origin 
■ — come of the ancient Hollanders of the colony — and were Van 
Duzers by name. It’s like, friends," added the good woman, hesi- 
tating, " that you are Yankees by birth." 

" 1 can not say I am,” I answered, " though of English extraction. 
jMy family is long of New York, but it does not mount back quite as 
far as the time of the Hollanders." 

" And your friend? He is silent: perhaps he is of New England? 
I would not wish to hurt his feelings, for* my story will bear a little 
hard, perhaps, on his love of home." 

“ Never mind me, mother, butrow^seit all up like entered cargo," 
said Marble, in his usual bitter way when alluding to his own birth. 
" There’s not the man breathing that one can speak more freely be- 
fore on such mattei^, than Moses Marble." 

"Marble — that’s a hard name," returned the woman, slightly 
smiling; " but a name is not a heart. My parents were Dutch; and 
you may have heard how it was before the Revolution, betw^een the 
Dutch and the Yankees. Near neighbors, they did not love each 
other. The Yankees said the Dutch were fools, and the Dutch said 
the Yankees were knaves. Now, as you may easily suppose, I was 
born before the Revolution, when King George II. was on the 
throne and ruled the country; and though it was long after the En- 
glish got to be our masters, it was before our people had forgotten 


JVIILES WALLlNGEOliD, 


27 

their language and their traditions. My father himself was born 
alter the English governors came among us, as I’ve heard him say; 
but it mattered not— he loved Holland to the last, and the customs 
of his fathers.” 

“ All quite right, mother,” said Marble, alittle impatiently; “ but 
what of all that? It’s as nat’ral for a Dutchman to love Holland, 
as it is for an Englishman to love Hollands. I’ve been in the Low- 
Countries, and must say it’s a muskrat sort of a life the people lead; 
neithei afloat nor ashore.” 

The old woman regarded Marble with more respect after this 
declaration; for, in that day, a traveled man was highly esteemed 
among us. In her eyes, it was a greater exploit to have' seen Am- 
sterdam, than it would now be to visit Jerusalem. Indeed, it is 
getting rather discreditable to a man of the world not to have seen 
the Pyramids, the Red v3ea, and the Jordan. 

” My father loved it not the less, though he never saw the land of 
his ancestors,” resumed the old woman. ‘‘Notwithstanding the 
iealousy of the Yankees, among us Dutch, and the mutual dislike, 
many of the former came among us to seek their fortunes. They 
are not a home-staying people, it would seem; and I can not deny 
that cases have happened in which they have been known to get 
away the farms of some of the Netherlands stock, in a way that it 
would have been better not to have happened.” 

” You speak considerately, my dear woman,” 1 remarked, “ and 
like one that has charity for all human failing.” 

‘‘ I ought to do so for my own sins, and I ought to do so to them 
of New England; for my own husband was of that race.” 

“Ay, now the story is coming round regularly. Miles,” said Mar- 
ble, nodding his head in approbation. ‘‘ It will touch on love next, 
and, if trouble do not follow, set me down as an ill-nat’red old bach- 
elor. Love in a man’s heart is like getting heated cotton, or shitting 
ballast, into a ship’s hold.” 

‘‘ I must confess to it,” continued our hostess, smiling in spite of 
her real sorrows — sorrows that were revived by thus recalling the 
events of her early life. ‘‘ A young man of Yankee birth came 
among us as a school- master, when I was only fifteen. Our people 
were anxious enough to have us all taught to read English, for many 
had found the disadvantage of being ignorant of the language of 
their ruleis and of the laws. I was sent to George Wetmore’s 
school, like most of the other young people of the neighborhood, 
and remained his scholar for three years. If you were on the hill 
above the orchard yonder, you might see the school-house at this 
moment; for it is only a short walk from our place, and a walk that 
1 made four times a day for just three years.” 

‘‘ One can see how the land lies now,” cried Marble, lighting a 
cigar, for he thought no apology necessary for smoking under a 
Dutch roof. ‘‘ The master taught his scholar something more than 
he found in his spelling-Dook, or the catechism. We’ll take your 
word about the school-house, seeing it is out of view.” 

“ It was out of sight, truly, and that may have been the reason 
my parents took it so hard when George VVetmore asked their leave 
to marry me. This was not done until he had walked home with 
me or as near home as the brow of yon hill, for a whole twelve* 


MILES WALLIKGEORD. 


I 


28 


month, and had served a servitude almost as long and as patient as 
that ot Jacob for Kachel.” 

“ Well, mother, how did the old people receive the question? like 
good-natured parents, 1 hope, for George’s sake.” 

” Rather say like the children ot Holland, judging ot the children 
of Hew England. They would not hear of it, but wished me to 
marry my own cousin, Petrus Storm, who was not greatly beloved, 
even in his own family.” 

“ Ot course you down anchor, and said you never would quit the 
moorings of home?” 

“ If I rightly understand you sir, 1 did something very different. 
1 got privately married to George, and he kept school near a twelve- 
month longer, up, behind the hill, though most ot the young women 
were taken away from his teaching.” 

“ Ay, the old way; the door was locked after the horse was slolea! 
Well, jmu were married, mother—” 

” After a time, it was necessary for me to visit a kinswoman who 
lived a little down the river. There my first child was born, un- 
known to my parents, and George gave it in charge to a poor woman 
who had lost her own babe, for we were still afraid to let our secret 
be known to my parents. Now commences the punishment for 
breaking the fifth commandment.” 

” How’s that. Miles?” demanded Moses. “ Is it ag’in the com- 
mandments for^ married woman to have a son?” 

“ Certainly not, my friend, though it is a breach of the command- 
ments not to honor our parents. This good woman alludes to her 
marrying contrary to the wishes of her father and mother.” 

” Indeed, 1 do, sir, and dearly have I been punished lor it. In a 
few weeks 1 returned home, and was followed by the sad news of 
the death of my first-born. The grief of these tidings drew the 
secret from me, and nature spoke so loud in the hearts of my poor 
parents, that they forgave all, took George home, and ever after- 
ward treated' him as if he also had been their own child. But it 
was too late; had it happened a few weeks earlier, my own precious 
babe might have been saved to me.” 

“You can not know that, mother; we all die when our time 
comes.” 

“ His time had not come. The miserable wretch to whom George 
tiusted the l)oy, exposed him among strangers to save herself trouble, 
and to obtain twenty dollars at as cheap a rate as possible — ” 

“Hold!” 1 interrupted. “In the name of Heaven, my good 
woman, in what year did this occur?” 

Marble looked at me in astonishment, though he clearly had 
glimpses of the object of my question. 

“ It was in the month of June, 17 — . For thirty long, long years, 
1 supposed my child had actually died, and then the mere force of 
conscience told me the truth. The wretched woman could not carry 
the secret with her into the grave, and she sent for me to hear the 
sad revelation.” 

“ 'Which was to say she left the child in a basket on a tombstone 
in a marble-worker’s yard in the town— in the yard of a man w^hose 
pame was Durfee!” I said, as rapidly as 1 could speak. 


MILES WALLINGEOUI), 29 

** She did indeed! though it is a marvel to me that a stranger 
should know this. What will be God’s pleasure next?” 

Marble groaned. He hid his face in his hands, while the poor 
woman looked from one of us to the other, in bewildered expecta- 
tion of what was to follow. I could not leave her long in doubt; 
but preparing her for what was to follo\v% by little and little I gave 
her to understand that the man she saw before her was her son. 
After half a century of separation the mother and child had thus 
been thrown together by the agency of an inscrutable Providence! 
The reader will readily anticipate the character of the explanations 
that succeeded. Of the truth of the circumstances there could not 
be a shadow of doubt, when every thing was related and compared. 
Mrs. Wetmore had ascertained from her unfaithful nurse the history 
of her child as far as the almshouse, but thirty years had left a gap 
in the information she had received, and it was impossible for her to 
obtain the name under which he had left that institution. The Revo- 
lution was just over when she made her application, and it was 
thought that some of the books had been taken away by a refugee. 
Still, there were a plenty of persons to supply traditions and con- 
jectures, and so anxious were she and her husband to trace these 
groundless reports to their confirmation or refutation, that much 
money and time were thrown away in the fruitless attempts. At 
length one of the old attendants of the children’s department was 
discovered, who professed to know the whole history of the child 
brought from the stone-cutter’s yard. This woman doubtless was 
honest, but her memory had deceived her. She said that the boy 
had been called Stone instead of Marble, a mistake that was natural 
enough in itself, but which was probably owing to the fact that 
another child of the first name had really left the institution a few 
months before Moses took his leave. This Aaron Stone had been 
traced, first as an apprentice to a tradesman, thence into a regiment 
of foot in the British army, which regiment had accompanied the 
rest of the forces at the evacuation, November 25th, 1783. 

The Wetmores fancied they were nowon the track of their child. 
He was traced down to a period within a twelvemonth of that of 
the search, and was probably to be found in England, still wearing 
the livery of the king. After a long consultation between the dis- 
consolate parents, it was determined that George Wetmore should 
sail for England in the hope of recovering their son. But, by this 
time, money was scarce. These worthy people were enabled to live 
in comfort on their little farm, but they were not rich in cash. All 
the loose coin was gone in the previous search, and even a small 
debt had been contracted to enaole them to proceed as far as they 
had. No alternative remained but to mortgage their home. This 
was done with great reluctance; but what will not a parent do for 
liis child? A country lawyer, of the name of Van Tassel, was ready 
enough to advance five hundred on a place that was worth quite 
three thousand dollars. This man was one of the odious class of 
country usurers, a set of cormorants that are so much worse than 
their town counterparts, because their victims are usually objects 
of real, and not speculative distress, and as ignorant and unpracticed 
as they are necessitous. It is wonderful with what far-sighted 
patience one of these wretches will bide his time, in order to eftect 


30 


MILES WALLIMGEORD. 


a favorite acquisition. Mrs. Wetmore’s little farm was very desir- 
able to this Squire Yan Tassel, for reasons in addition to its intrinsic 
value; and for years nothing could be kinder and more neighborly 
than his indulgence. Interest was allowed to accumulate, until the 
whole debt amounted to the sum of a thousand dollars. In the mean- 
time the father went to England, found the soldier after much 
trouble and expense, ascertained that Stone knew his parents, one 
of whom had died in the almshouse, and spent all his money. 

Years of debt and anxiety succeeded, until the father sunk under 
his misfortunes. An only daughter also died, leaving Kitty a legacy 
to her widowed mother, the other parent having died even before 
her birth. Thus was Katharine Yan Duzer, our old hostess, left to 
struggle on nearly alone, at the decline of life, with a poverty that 
was daily increasing, years, and this infant granddaughter. Just 
befote his death, however,*George Wetmore had succeeded in sell- 
ing a portion of his farm, that which w^as least valuable to himself, 
and with the money he paid off Yan Tassel’s mortgage. This was 
his own account of the matter, and he showed to his wife Yan Tas- 
sel’s receipt, the money having been paid at the county town, where 
the bond and mortgage could not be then produced. This was 
shortly before Wetmore’s last illness. A twelvemonth after his 
death, the widow was advised to demand the bond, and to take the 
mortgage oft record. But the receipt was not to be found. With 
a woman’s ignorance of such matters, the widow let this fact leak 
out; and her subsequent demand tor the release was met with a 
counter one for evidence of payment. This was the commencement 
of Yan Tassel’s hostile attitude; and things had gone as far as a 
foreclosure and an advertisement for a sale, when the good woman 
thus opportunely discovered her son! 

j 

i 

CHAPTER III. i 

s 

I charge you by the law, ' * 

Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, 

Proceed to judgment; by my soul I swear 
There is no power in the tongue of man 
To alter me; I stay here on my bond. 

Sliylock. 

It is not easy to describe the immediate effect of this discovery on 
either of the parties most concerned. Not a doubt remained on the 
mind of either, after the facts were explained, of the reality of the 
relationship; for that was so simply proved, as to place the circum- 
stance beyond all dispute. Mrs. Wetmore thought of her lost son 
}is of an innocent, smiling babe; and here she found him a red-faced, 
hard-featured, weather-beaten tar, already verging toward {rge, and 
a man of manners that were rough, it not rude. She could not at 
first possess any knowledge of the better points in his character, and 
was compelled to receive this boon from Providence as it was 
offered. Nevertheless, a mother’s love is not easily dissatisfied or 
smothered; and ere 1 left the house, 1 could see the old woman’s 
eyes fixed on Marble with an expression of interest and tenderness 
they had not manifested previously to the revelation^. 


MTL'ES WALLTNGFORTJ. 


31 


As for the mate himself, now that the fondest wish of his life 
was so unexpectedly gratified, he was taken so much by surprise 
that he appeared to think something was wanting. He found bis 
mother the reputable widow of a reputable man, of a class in life 
q^uite equal to his own, living on a property that was small certain- 
ly, and involved, but property that had been long in her family. 
The truth was, Marble felt so much at this unlooked-for appeal to his 
gentler feelings, that one of his steru nature did not know how to 
answer it on the emergency; and the obstinacy of his temperament 
rather induced him to resist, than to yield to such unwonted senti- 
ments. 1 could see he was satisfied with his mother, while he was 
scarcely satisfied with himself; and, with a view to place both parties 
in truer positions, 1 desired Moses to walk down and look at the 
boat, while 1 remained alone with his new-found parent. This was 
not done, however, until all the explanations had been made, and 
the Another had both blessed and wept over her child, ft was done 
indeed, principally to relieve Marble from the oppression of feeling- 
created by this very scene. 

As soon as alone with Mrs. Wetmore, 1 explained to her my own 
connection with Marble, and gave her a sort of apologetic account 
of his life and character, keeping down the weak points, and dwell 
ing on the strong. 1 set her mind at ease, at once, on the subject of 
the farm; for, should tlie worst happen, her son had double the 
amount of money that would be necessary to discharge the mort- 
gage* 

“ The debt was incurred, my dear Mrs. Wetmore, in his behalf; 
and he will be happy to discharge it on the spot. 1 would advise 
you to pay the money at once. Should the receipt ever be found, 
this Van Tassel will be obliged to refund; for though the law winks 
at many wrongs, it will not wink at one so atrocious as this, pro- 
vided you can satisfy it with proof. I shall leave Moses—” 

‘‘His name is Oloff, or Oliver,” interrupted the old woman, 
eagerl}’’; ”1 named him after my own father, and had him duly 
christened, before he was intrusted to the nurse, in the hope it might 
soften his grandfather’s heart, when he came to know of my mar- 
riage. Oloff Van Duzer Wetmore is his real name.” 

1 smiled to think of Marble’s sailing under such an appellation, 
and was about to suggest a compromise, when the subject of oiir 
discourse returned. The mate had regained his composure during 
the half hour he had been absent; and 1 saw by the kind glance he 
thr^' on his aiother, whose look answered his own more naluralh^ 
than 1 could have hoped, that things were getting right; and, by 
way of removing the awkwardness of excessive sensibility, 1 pur- 
sued the discourse. 

‘‘ We were talking of your true name, Moses, as you came in,” 1 
said. ‘‘ It will never do for you to hail by one name, while your 
mother hails by another. You’ll have to cut adrift from Moses 
Marble altogether.” 

“ If 1 do, may 1 be—” 

“ Hush, hush— you forget where you are, and in whose presence 
you stand.” 

” 1 hope my son will soon learn that he is always in the presence 
of his God,” observed the mother, plaintively. 


S2 MILES WALLINGFOKII. 

“ Ay, ay— that’s all right, mother, and you shall do with me just 
what you please in any of them matters; but as for not being Moses 
Marble, you might as well ask me not to be myself. 1 should be 
another man, to change my name. A fellow might as well go with- 
out clothes, as go without a name; and mine came so hard, 1 don’t 
like to part with it. No, no— had it come to pass, now, that my 
parents had been a king and a queen, and that 1 was to succeed ’em 
on the throne, 1 should reign as King Moses Marble, or not reign at 
all.” 

“ You’ll think better of this, and take out a new register under 
your lawful designation.” 

‘‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do, mother, and that will satisfy all 
parties. I’ll bend on the old name lo the new one, and sail under 
both.” 

“ 1 care not how you are called, my son, so long as no on^^ has 
need to blusn for the name you bear. This gentleman tells me you 
are an honest and true-hearted man; and those are blessings lor 
which 1 shall never cease to thank God.” 

Miles has been singing my praises, has he! 1 can tell you. 
mother, you had need look out for Miles’s tongue. Natur’ intended 
him for a lawyer, and it’s mere accident his being a sailor, though 
a capital one he is. But what may be my name, according to law?” 

” Oiofl: Van Duzer Wetmore Moses Marble, according to your 
own expedient of sailing under all your titles. You can ring the 
changes, however, and call yourself Moses Oloft Marble Van Duzer 
Wetmore, it you like that better.” 

Moses laughed, and as 1 saw that both he and his new-found 
mother were in a fit state to be left together, and that the sun now 
wanted but an hour or twd of setting, 1 rose to take my leave. 

” You will remain with your mother to-night. Marble,” I ob- 
served. ” 1 will keep tlie sloop at an anchor until 1 can see you in 
the morning, when we will settle the future a little more deliber- 
ately.” 

” 1 should not like to lose my son so soon after finding him,” the 
old woman anxiously remarked. 

” No fear, of me, mother — 1 berth under youi roof to-night, and 
60 many mbre in the bargain, that you’ll be glad to be rid of me in 
the end.” - 

1 then left the house, followed by Marble, toward the boat. As 
we reached the little piece of bottom-land, 1 heard a sort of sup- 
pressed sob from the mate, and, turning round, Avas surprised to 
see the tears running down his sunburnt cheeks. His wrought- 
up feelings had at last obtained the mastery; and this rude, but 
honest creature had fairly given in, under the excitement of this 
strange admixture of joy, wonder, shame, and natural emotion. 1 
took his hand, gave it a hearty squeeze, but said nothing; though 1 
stopped, unwilling to go nearer to Neb until my companion had 
regained his composure. This he did, sufficiently to speak, in the 
course of a minute or two. 

” It’s all like a dream to me. Miles,” Moses at length muttered — 

more out of natur' like, than setting up for a hermit.” 

” You’ll soon get accustomed to the change. Marble; then every- 
thing will seem in the ordinary, and natural.” 


MILES WALLIKGEOKD. 


33 


“ To think of my being a son, and having a rea), living nlothefl” 

, “ You must have known ttiat you had parents once, though you 
are fortunate in finding one of them alive at your time of life/’ 

“And she. an honest woman! A mother the President of the 
United Stales, or the first commodore in the navy, needn’t be 
ashamed of!” _ 

“ All that is fortunate, certainly; especially the first.” 

“ She’s a bloody good-looking old woman in the bargain. I’ll 
have her dressed up and carry her down to town, the first oppoi- 
tunity. ” . 

“ What would you give an old woman that trouble for? You'll 
think better of these matters, in the long run.” 

“ Better! Yes, I’ll take her to Philadelphia, and perhaps to Balti- 
more. There’s the gardens, and the theaters, and the museums, and 
lots of tilings that 1 dare say the dear old soul never laid eyes on.” 

“ I’m mistaken in your mother, if she would not prefer a church 
to all of them put together.” 

“ "Well, there’s churches in all ot them towns. Put it on a relig- 
ious fooling, it you will, and J ought to take my mother as soon as 
possible down to York. She’s old, you see, and can not live for- 
ever, just to oblige me; and here has she been tied down to one 
cliurcb all her days, giving her no ch’ice nor opportunity. I dare 
say, now, variety is just as agreeable in religion, as in anything 
else. ’ ’ 

“ You are nearer right there, Moses, than you think yourself, pos- 
sibly. But we can talk of all these tilings to-morrow. A good 
night’s rest will give us cooler heads in the morning.” 

“ 1 shall not sleep a wink for thinking of it. No, no— I’ll make 
the old lady pack up before breakfast, and we’ll sail in the si op. 
I’ll take her aboard the ‘ Dawn ’ with me in town, and a comforta- 
ble time we’ll have of it in her cabins. She has as good state-rooms 
as a yacht.” 

There were no liners in those da 3 '^s; but a ship with two cabins 
was a miracle of convenience. 

“ our . mother will hardly suit a ship, Moses; and a ship will 
hardly suit your mother.” 

“ How can any of us know that till we try? If I’m a chip of the 
old block, they’ll take to each other like rum and water. It I’m to 
go out in the ship, I’m far irom certain I’ll not take the old woman 
to sea with me. ” 

“ You’ll probably remain at home, now tnat you lime a home, 
and a mother, and other duties to attend to. 1 and my concerns 
will be but secondary objects with you hereafter. Mi. Wetmore.” 

“ AYetmore be d d!- D’ye mean. Miles, that I’m to give up 

my calling, give up the sea, give up youf" 

“ Y'ou wished to be a fiermit once, and found it a little too soli- 
tary; had you a companion or two, you.w’ould have been satisfied, 
you said. " Well, here is everything you can wish; a mother, a 
niece, a house, a farm, barns, outhouses, garden and orchard; and, 
seated on that porch, you can smoke cigars, take your grog, look at 
the craft going up and down the Hudson — ” 

“ Nothing butsomany bloody sloops,” growled the mate. “ Such 
2 


34 


MILES WALLIKGFORD. 


in-and-in fore-and-attcrs that their booms won’t stay guyed out, 
even after you’ve been at the pains to use a hawser.” 

” "Well, a sloop is a pleasant object to a sailor, when he can get 
nothing better. Then there is this Mr. Van Tassel to settle with— 
you may have a ten years’ lawsuit on your hands, to amuse you.” 

” I’ll make short work with that scamp, when 1 tall in with him. 
You’re right enough. Miles; that atfair must be settled before 1 can 
lift an anchor. Aiy mother tells me he lives hard by, and can be 
seen, at any moment, in a quarter of an hour. I’ll pay him a visit 
this very night.” 

This declaration caused me to pause. 1 knew Marble too well, 
not to foresee trouble if he were left to himself in a matter of this 
nature, and thought it might be well to inquire further into the 
affair. Sailors do everything off-hand. Mrs. Wetmore telling me 
that her son’s statement was true, on my going back to the house to 
question her in the matter, and offering us the use of an old-fash- 
ioned one-horse chaise, that the only farm-laborer she employed 
was just then getting ready to go in, in quest of Kitty, ] availed 
myself of the opportunity, took the printed advertisement of the. sale 
to read as we went along, obtained our directions, and off Marble 
and I went in quest of the usurer. 

There would be sufficient tim^ for all our purposes. It is true 
that the, horse, like the house, its owner, the laborer, the chaise, and 
all we had yet seen about Willow Cove, as we had learned the place 
was called, was old; but he wa® the more safe and sure. The road 
led up the ascent by a ravine, through which it wound its way very 
prettily; the laborer walking by our side to point out the route, 
after we should reach the elevation of the country that stretched in- 
land. 

The view from the height, as it might be termed in reference to 
the river, though it was merely on the level of the whole region in 
that portion of the State, was both extensive and pretty. Willow 
Grove, as Marble called his mother’s place three or four times, while 
our horse was working his way up the ascent, looked more invit- 
ingly than ever, with its verdant declivities, rich orchards, neat cot- 
tage, all ensconced behind the sheltering cover of the river heights. 
Inland, we saw a hundred farms, groves without number, dTvers 
roads, a hamlet within a mile of us, an old-fashioned extinguisher- 
looking church-spire, and various houses of wood painted white, 
with here and there a piece of rustic antiquity in bricks, or stone, 
wasiied with lime, or some livelier paint; for the Dutch of IVew 
Y’oi-k had brought the habits of Holland with them, delighting in 
colors. This relief may be desirable in a part of the world where 
the eternal green of the meadows in a manner fatigues the eye; but 
certainly the eray of nature has no just competitor in the tints of 
the more artificial portions of the ordinary landscape. 'White may 
make a scene look gay; but it can never lend it dignity, or the 
solemn hues that so often render the loveliness of a view impressive, 
as well us sweet. When this trlaring color reaches the fences it 
gives the prettiest landscape the air of a bleaching-yard, or of a. 
great laundry, with the clothes hung out to dryl 

The guide pointed out to us the house of Yan Tassel, and another 
at which we should find Kitty, who was to be brought home by us 


MILES M'ALLIKGFORD. 


35 


on our return. Understanding the course and distance, we put to 
■sea without atfy misgivings. The horse was no flyer, and Marble 
and 1 had plenty of leisure to arrange preliminaries before reaching 
the door to which we were bound. After some consultation, and a 
good deal of discussion, 1 succeeded in persuading my companion it 
woula not be wisest to break ground by flogging the attorney — a 
procedure to wdiich he was strongly inclined. 11 was settled, how- 
ever, he was at once to declare himself to be Mrs. Wetmore’s son, 
and to demand his explanations in that character; one that would 
clearly give him every claim to be heard. 

“ 1 know what these usurers, as you call ’em. Miles, must be,” 
said the mate. ‘‘ They are a sort of in-shore pawnbrokers; and the 
Lord have mercy on them, for I’ll have none. I’ve had occasion to 
pawn a watch, or a quadrant, in mj’- lime; and bloody poor pi’ices 
does a fellow get for his goods and chattels. Yes, jes; I’ll let the 
old gentleman know, at once, I’m Van Duzer Oioff Marble Wet- 
more Moses, or whatever’s my name; and will stand up for the 
right in a fashion that will surprise him ; but what are you to do in 
the .meantime?” 

It struck me, if 1 could get Marble to attempt practicing a sort of 
Tube, it would have the effect to prevent his resorting to club-law, 
toward which I knew he had a strong natural disposition, and of 
which I was still a little afraid. With this object, then, I conceived 
the following scheme: 

” You shall simply introduce me as Mr. Miles Wallingford,” I 
said, ” but in a formal manner, that may induce this Mr. Van Tas- 
sel to imagine I’m a sort of lawyer; and this ma}^ have the effect to 
aw’e him, and bring him to terms the easier. Do not sny I am a 
lawyer, for that will not be true, and it will also be awkward fall- 
ing back when the truth comes to be known. ” 

Marble took the idea, and seemed pleased with it, though he 
afllrmed that there could be no such thin.g as acting lawyer without 
lying a little, and that “ the truth was too good tor one of your 
blood}" usurers.” I got him trained, however, by the time we 
reachkl the door; and we alighted as well prepared for our task as 
could be expected. 

There was nothing about the residence of Squire Van Tassel to. 
•denote the grasping money-lender, unless a certain negligence of . 
(he exterior might be supposed to betray the abode of such a man. 
His friends wished to ascribe this to an indifference to appearance; 
but the multitude more accurately imputed it to parsimony. When 
the very soul gets' to be absorbed in the process of rolling gold over 
and over, in order to make it accumulate, the spirit grudges the 
withdrawal of the smallest fraction from the gainful pursuit; and 
here lies the secret of the disdain of appearances that is so generally 
to be met with in this description of persons. Beyond this air of 
negligence, however, the dwelling of Van Tassel was not to be dis- 
tinguished from those of most of the better houses of that part of 
the country. Our application for admission was favorably received, 
and in a minute we were shown into the attorney’s office. 

Squire Van Tassel, as this man was universally termed, eyed us 
keenly as we entered, no doubt with a view to ascertain it Ave were 
boiToWers. I might possibly have passed for one of that charactei, 


36 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


for 1 aimed at looking serious and thoughtful; bjit I would defy 
an}’^ man to mistake Moses for one wtio came on such an errand. 
He looked more like a messenger sent by the Father of Sin, to de- 
mand the payment of a certain bond that had been signed in blood, 
and of which the fatal pay-day liad at length arrived. 1 had to give 
the skirt of his coat a pull in order to recall him to our agreement, 
else 1 do think the first salutation received b}’- the attorney would 
have been a broadside in anything but words. The hint succeeded, 
and Marble permitted our host to open the communications. 

Squire Van Tassel had a very miserly exterior. He even looked 
ill fed; though doubtless this appearance was more a consequence of 
habit of body than of short-feeding. He wore spectacles with black 
rims, and had the common praqtice of looking over them at objects 
at a distance; which gave him an air still more watchful than that 
which he imbibed from character. His stature was small, and his 
years about sixty, an age when the accumulation of money begins 
to bring as much pain as pleasure; for it is a period of life when 
men can not fail to see the termination of their earthly schemes. Of 
all the passions, however, avarice is notoriously that \vdiich the latest 
loosens its hold- on the human heart. 

“ Your servant, gentlemen,” commenced the attorney, in a man- 
ner that was civil enough; “ your servant; 1 beg you to help your- 
selves to chairs.” We all tliree took seats, at this invitation. “ A 
pleasant evening,” eying us still more keenly over his glasses, 
“and weather that is good for the crops. If the wars continue 
much longer in Europe,” another look over the glasses, “ Ave shall 
sell all the substance out of our lands, in order to send the belliger- 
ents wheat. 1 begin to look on real estate security as considerably 
less valuable than it was, when hostilities commenced in 1793, and 
as daily growing less and less so.” 

“Ay, you may say that,” Marble bluntly answered; “ partic- 
ularly the farms of widows and orphans.” 

The “ squire ” was a little startled at this unexpected reply. He 
looked intently at each of us again, over the spectacles, and then 
asked, in a manner divided between courtesy and authority— 

“ May 1 inquire your names, and the object of this visit?” 

“ Sartain,” said Marble. “ That’s reasonable and your right. 
We are not ashamed of our names, nor of our errand. As for the 
last, Mr. Van Tassel, you’ll know it sooner than you will wish to 
know it; but, to begin at the right end, this gentleman with me is 
Mr. Miles Wallingford, a particular friend- of old Mrs. Wetmore, 
who lives a bit down the roau yonder, at a farm called Willow 
Grove; Squire Wallingford, sir, is friend, and wy friend, and 
I’ve great pleasure in making you acquainted with him.” 

“ 1 am happy to see the gentleman,” answered Van Tassel, tak- 
ing another look, while at the same time he glanced his eye at an 
alphabetical list of the attorneys and counselors to see what place 1 
occupied among them. “ Very happy to see the gentleman, who 
has quite lately commenced practice, 1 should think, by his age^ 
and- my not remembering the name.” 

“ There must be a beginning to all things, Mr. Van Tassel,” 1 re- 
■O'ied, with a calmness that 1 could see the old usurer did not like. 

“ Very true, sir, and 1 hope your future success will be in pro- 


MILES AVALLIXGFOKD. 


37 

portion to the lateness of your appearance at the bar. Your com- 
panion has much more the air of a sailor than of a lawyer.” This 
was true enough, there being no mistaking Marble’s character, 
though 1 had put on a body-coat to coine ashore in. ”1 presume 
he is not in the practice,” 

” That remains to be seen, sir,” answered Marble. “ Having told 
you my friend’s name, Mr. Van Tassel, 1 will now tell you my own. 
1 am called Moses Marble Wetmore Van Duzer Oloff, sir, or some 
such bloody thing; and you’re welcome to take your pick out of 
the whole list. I’ll "answer to either of them aliases.” 

” This is so extraordinary and unusual, gentlemen, 1 scarce know 
what to make of it. Has this visit any connection with Mrs. Wet- 
more, or her farm, or the mortgage ]. have been foreclosing on the 
last?” 

” It has, sir; and 1 am that Mrs. Wetmore’s son— yes, sir, the 
only child of that dear, good old soul.” 

‘‘ The son of Mrs. Wetmore!” exclaimed Van Tassel, both sur- 
prised and uneasy. ”1 knew there icaa a son; but 1 have been 
always told it was impossible to find him. 1 see no resemblance, 
sir, in you, to either George Wetmore or Kitty Van Duzer.” 

IS^’ow, this was not altogether true. As for George Wetmore, they 
who had known him in middle age afterward declared that Moses 
did resemble him greatly; while 1, myself, could trace in the mouth 
and milder expressions of the mate’s features, a strong likeness to 
the subdued character of his aged mother’s face. This resemblance 
would not have been observed, in all probability, without a knowl- 
edge of tlie affinity that existed between the parlies; but, with that 
knowledge, it was not easy to overlook it. 

” Resemblance!” repeated Marble, much in the tone of one who 
is ready to quarrel on the slightest provocation; ” how should there 
be any resemblance after the life I’ve had? In the first place I was 
carried out of my mother’s sight in less than ten days after I was 
born. Then I was placed on a tombstone, by way of encourage- 
ment; after which they sent me to live among paupers. I ran away 
at ten years old, and went to sea, where I’ve played the part of a 
man-of-w'ar’s-man, privateer ’s-man, smuggler, mate, master, and 
ail hands; everything, in short, but a pirate and mutineer. I’ve 
been a bloody hermit, Mr. Van Tassel, and if that, won’t lake the 
resemblance to anything human out of a- fellow his face is as un- 
changeable as that on a gold coin. ” 

“ All this, Mr. Wallingford, is so unintelligible to me that I shall 
have to ask you to explain it.” 

“ I can only add to it, sir, my belief that every word you hear is 
true. I am satisfied that this is, in a legal sense, Oloff Van Duzer 
Wetmore, the only surviving child of George Wetmore and Katha- 
rine Van Duzer. He has come to see you in relation to a claim 
you are said to hold against the farm his mother inherited from her 
parents.” 

, ‘ ‘ /SrtwZtd hold ! I certainly do hold George Wetmore’s bond, se- 

cured by a mortgage signed by his wife, balance due, including in- 
terest and costs, $963 42; and am proceeding to sell, under the 
statute. One sale has been postponed to oblige the widow^ for a 
merciful man would not wish to press a single and aged woman. 


38 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


though I’ve lain out of my money a very long time. You are 
aware, sir, that 1 lose all my interest on interest, and must take up 
with just what the law will give — hardship enough in active times 
like these, when not a day passes that something good does not 
ofter in the way of purchasing the best of secuiities, at liberal dis- 
counts. Trade is so lively now, Mr. Wallingford, that, men will 
almost sell their souls for money.” 

’ ‘‘ 1 rather think, sir, that some men will do this at all times, nay, 
do it hourly, daily. But 1 am instructed” — 1 could not help acting 
the counsel a little on the occasion — ” 1 am instructed that the bond 
of George Wetraore is paid in full.” 

‘‘ How can that be, sir. while 1 still hold bond and mortgage? As 
a business man, you must understand the value to be attached to 
the idle tales of women, and can see the danger of taking gossip for 
authority. George Wetmore had some knowledge of business, and 
would not be likelj^ to pay his bond without taking it up, of at least 
of obtaining a receipt, much less leave the mortgage on record.” 

” 1 am informed he did take your receipt, though he presumes 
he must have lost it with a missing pocket-book, which his widow 
supposes to have been dropped from his coat the very day he returned 
from the court wiiere he met you, and where he says he paid you 
the money, being anxious to stop interest as soon as irossible.” 

” A very idle story, and one you do not suppose the chancellor 
will believe, confirmed by the hearsay of the party interested in 
preserving the property. You are aware, sir, that the sale can be 
stopped only by an injunction from the Court of Chancery.” 

Now 1 was certainly no lawyer, but like almost every Ameri- 
can, 1 knew something of that branch of the jurisprudence of the 
country, which touched m}" own interests. Asa land holder, 1 had 
a little knowledge of the law of real estate, and w^as not absolutely 
ignorant of the manner in which matters were managed in that most 
searching of all tribunals, the Court of Chancery. A lucky thought 
suggested itself to my mind on the instant, and 1 made use of it on 
the spur of the moment. 

‘‘It is quite true, sir,” 1 answered, ‘‘that any prudent judge 
might hesitate about entering a decree on authority no better than 
the oath of Mrs. Wetmore that she had heard her husband say he 
had paid the money, but you will remember that the party replying 
has to sw^ear to his answ^er. All of us might be better satisfied in 
this affair, w’ere you to make oath that the money was never paid.” 

Phis hit told, and from that moment I did not entertain a doubt 
that Wetmore nad paid the money, and that Van Tassel retained a 
perfect recollection of the whole affair. This much 1 could read in 
the man’s altered countenance and averted eye, though my impres- 
sions certainly w’ere not proof. If not proof, however, for a court 
of justice, they served to enlist nre earnestly in the pursuit of the 
affair, into wdiich 1 entered warmly from that moment. In the 
meantime I waited for Van Tassel’s answer, watching his counte- 
nance the whole time, with a vigilance that 1 could easily see caused 
him great embarrassment. 

” Kitty Wetmore and 1 were born neighbors’ children,” he said, * 
“ and this mortgage has given me more trouble than all the rest of 
my little possessions. That L have been in no hurry to foreclose is 


:MILES WALLIXGEOKD. 


39 


plain by Ibe length ot time i’ve suflterecl to go by without claiming 
my dues. 1 could wait no longer without endangering my rights, 
as there would be a presumption of payment after twenty years, and 
- a presumption that would tell harder, against me than old Kitty’s 
oath. We are neighbors’ children, as I’ve said, nevertheless, and 
rather than push matters to extremities 1 will consent to some sort 
of a compromise.” 

“ And what sort of a compromise will '"be agreeable to your no- 
tions of justice, Mr. Yan Tassel?” 

” Why, sir, as Kitty is old, it would be a sad thing to drive her 
from the roof under which she was born. This I’ve said and 
thought from the first, and say, noio. Still, 1 can not part with my 
property without a compensation; though T’m willing to wait. 1 
told Mrs. Wetmore before advertising, that if she would give a new 
bond, making all clear, and giving me interest on the whole sum 
now due, 1 should be williflg to grant her time. 1 now propose, 
however, as the simplest way "of settling the affair, to accept from 
her a release of the equity of redenaption, and to grant her a lease, 
for her own life, on a nominal rent.” 

Even Marble knew enough to see the rank injustice of such an 
otter. In addition to conceding the non-payment of the debt, it 
was securing to Yan Tassel, at no distant day, the quiet possession 
of the farm, for somewhat less than one third its value. I detected 
symptoms of an outbreak in the mate, and was obliged to repress it 
by a sign, while 1 kept the discussion in my own hands. 

” Under such an arrangement, sir,” 1 answered, “ my friend here 
would be literally selling his birthright for a mess of porridge.” 

“ lou will remember, -Mr. Wallingford, that a inortgage sale, 
legally made, is a ticklish thing, and the courts do no’t like to dis- 
turb one. This sale will take place this day week; and the title once 
passed, it will not be so easy a matter to get it repassed. Mr. AVet- 
more here does not look like a man ready to pay down a thousand 
dollars.” 

” We shall not run the risk of letting the title pass. I will buy 
the property, myself, if necessary; and should it afterward appear 
that the money has been actually paid, we believe you are sufficient- 
ly secure for principal, interest, and costs.” 

“You are young in the profession, Mr. AYallingfoid, and will 
come to learn the folly of advancing money for your clients.” 

“ 1 am hot in the profession at all, sir, as you have erroneously 
supposed, but am a shipmaster, and Mr. Wetmore, or Marble, as he 
has hitherto been called, is my mate. Still, we are none the worse 
provided with the means of pacing a thousand dollars — or twenty 
of them, should it be necessary.” 

“Mo lawyer,” cried Yan Tassel, smiling grimly. “ A couple of 
sailors about to dispute the foreclosure of a mortgage! Famous 
justice we should get at your hands, gentlemen! AVell, well; 1 now 
see how it is, and that this has only been an attempt to work on my 
sympathies for an old woman who has been living on my money 
■ these twenty years. 1 rather think your $963 42 will prove to ’be 
ot the same quality as your law.” 

“ And, 5"et, it struck me. Mr. Van Tassel, that you rather disliked 
the idea of swearing to the truth of an answer to a certain bill in 


40 MliES AVALLIXGFORD. 

chancery, which, if 1 can not draw, one Abraham Yan Yechten, of 
Alban}', cah!” , 

“ Abraham Yan Yechten is skillful counsel, and an honest man, 
and is not likely to be employed in a cause lhat rests on an old 
woman s hearsays — all to saveher own farm!” 

Marble could keep silence no longer. He told me afterward that, 
during the dialogue, he had been taking the measure of the old 
usurer’s foot, and felt it would be a disgrace to strike so feeble a 
creature; but, to sit and hear his newly-tound mother sneered at, 
and her just rights derided, was more than his patience could en- 
dure. Rising abruptly, therefore, he broke out at once in one of 
the plainest philippics of ihe sea. 1 shall not repeat all he said; 
for, to render it justly, might be to render it offensive; but, in addi- 
tion to calling old Yan Tassel by a great many names that were as 
unusual as they were quaint, he called him by several that w'ould 
be familiar to the ears of most of my readers, besides being perfectly 
well merited. 1 allowed his humor id find vent; and, giving the 
atloiney to understand he should hear further from us, 1 succeeded 
in getting my companion to the wagon, without coming to blow's. 
1 could see that Yan Tassel was very far from being at his ease, and 
that he wmuld still gladly keep us, if he could, in the hope of bring- 
ing about some sort of a compromise, if possible; but 1 thought it 
wisest to let matters rest awhile, af fer the decided demonstration we 
had already made. 

It was not an easy matter to get Marble' into the vehicle; but this 
w’as no sooner effected, than 1 ti;otted him off, down the road, tak- 
ing the direction of the house where we had been told to seek Kitty 
Huguenin, old Mrs. Wetmore’s granddaughter, who would be 
waiting the appearance of the chaise, in order to return home. 

“You must put on a more amicable look,” said 1 to the mate, as 
we went on our way, “ or you’ll frighten your niece; with whom, 
you will remember, you are about to make acquaintance.” 

” The'Cheallng vagabond, to take advantage of a poor, lonely old 
woman, whose only husband was in the grave, and only son at 
sea!” the mate continued to mutter. ‘‘Talk about the command- 
ments! 1 should like to know what commandment this was break- 
ing. The whole six, in a batch.” 

” The tenth, lam inclined to think, my ffieiid; and that is a com- 
mandment broken all day, and every day.” 

The denunciations of the mate continued for some time longer, 
and then wgnt off like the rumbling of distant thunder in the heav- 
ens after the passage of the gust. 


CHAPTER lY. 

No Moorish maid might hope to vie 
With Laila’s cheek, or Laila’s eye; 

No maiden loved with purer truth, 

Or ever loved a loveher youth. 

Southey. 

Miles,” said Moses, suddenly, after riding a short distance in 
silence, ‘‘ 1 milst quit the old lady, this very night, and go down 
with you to town. W e, must have that money up at the place, of 


mil'es WALLIKGFOKD. 4:1 

sale, in leadiness tor the vagabond; for, as to letting him have the 
smallest chance at Willow Grove, that is out of the question.” 

” As you please, Marble; but, now, get yourself in trim to meet 
another relation; the second you have laid eyes on in this world.” 

“ Think ot that, Miles! Think of my having relations! A 
mother and a niece! Well it is a true saying, that it never rains but 
it pours,” 

” You probably have many more, uncles, aunts, and cousins in 
scores. The Dutch are famous for counting cousins; and no doubt 
you’ll have calls on you from half the county.” 

1 saw that Marble was perplexed, and did not know, at first, but 
he was getting to be embarrassed by this affluence ot kindred. The 
mate, however, was not the man long to conceal his thoughts from 
me; and in the strength of his feelings he soon let his trouble be 
known. 

” I say, Miles,” he rejoined, ‘‘ a fellow may be bothered with fe- 
licity, 1 find. Now, here, in ten minutes perhaps, 1 shall have to 
meet my sister’s dartar — my own, born, blood niece; a full-grown 
hnd, 1 dare say, a comely young woman; and, 'hang me if 1 know 
exactly what a man ought to say in such a state ot the facts. Gen- 
eralizing won’t do with these near relations; ahdl suppose a sister’s 
dartar is pretty much the same to a chap as his own dartar would be, 
provided he had one.” 

‘'Exactly; had you reasoned a month, you could not have hit 
upon a better solution ot the difficulty than this. Treat this Kitty 
Huguenin just as you would treat Kitty Marble.” 

” Ay, ay: all this is easy enough aforehand, and to such scholars 
as you, but it comes hard on a fellow like myself to heave his idees 
out of him, as it might be, with a windlass. 1 managed the old 
woman right well, and could get along with a dozen mothers 
better than with one sister’s dartar. Suppose she should turn out a 
girl with black eyes, and red cheeks, and all that sort of thing; 1 
dare say she would expect me to kiss her?” 

“ Certainly; she will expect that, should her eyes even be white, 
and her cheeks black. Natural affection expects this much even 
among the least enlightened of the human race.” 

‘‘lam disposed to do every thing according to usage,” returaed 
Marble, quite innocently, and more discomposed by the situation iu 
which he so unexpectedly found himself, than he might have been 
willing to own; ‘‘ while, at the same time, I do not wish to do any 
thing that is not expected from a son and an uncle. If these rela- 
tions had only come one at a time.” 

‘‘Poh, poh, Moses— do not be quarreling with your good luck, 
just as it’s at its height. Here is the house, and I’ll engage one of 
those four girls is 5 ''Our niece — that wilh the bonnet for a dollar; she 
being ready to go home, and the whole having come to the door, in 
consequence of seeing the chaise driving down the road. They are 
puzzled at finding us in it however, instead of the usual driver.” 

Mafble hemmed, attempted to clear his throat, pulled down both 
sleeves of his jackel, settled his black handkerchief to his mind, 
slyly got rid of his quid, and otherwise ‘‘ cleared ship for action,” 
as he would have been very apt to describe his own preparations. 
After all his heart failed him at the pinch; and just as 1 was pull- 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


42 

in^ up the horse, he said to me, iu a voice so small and delicate, that 
it sounded odd to one who had heard the man’s thunder, as he 
hailed yards and tops in gales of wind — 

“Miles, my dear boy, 1 do not half like this business; suppose 
you get out, and open the matter to the ladies. There's four of 
them, you see, and that’s three too many. Go, now. Miles, that’s a 
good fellow, and 1 ‘11 do the same for you another time. 1 can’t have 
four nieces here, you’ll own yourself.’’ 

“ And while 1 am telling your Story to your niece, your own 
Bister’s daughter, what will you be doing here, pray?’’ 

“Doing;? Why any thing, my dear Miles, that can be useful. 
1 say, boy, do you think she looks, any thing like me? When you 
get nearer, if you should think so, just hold up a hand as a signal, 
that 1 may not betaken by surprise. Yes, yes; you go first, and 
i’ll follow; and, as for ‘doing,’ why, you know, 1 can hold this 
bloody horse."’ ’ 

1 laughed, threw the reins to Marble, who seized them with both 
hands, as if the beast required holding, while 1 alighted, and walked 
to the cluster of girls, who awaited my movements in surprise and 
silence. Since that day, 1 have seen more of the world than might 
have been expected in one of my early career; and often have I had 
occasion to remark the tendency there exists to extremes in most 
things; in inanners, as well as in every other matter connected with 
human feelings. As we become sophisticated, acting takes the place 
of nature, and men and women often afitect the greatest indifference 
in cases in which they feel the liveliest interest. This is the source 
of the ultra sang froid of what is termed high breeding, which 
would have caused the four young women, who then stood in the 
door-yard of the respectable farm-house at which l.had alighted, to 
assume an air as cold, and as marble-like, at the sudden appearance 
of Mrs. Wetraore*’s chaise, containing two strange faces, as if they 
had been long expecting our arrival, and were a little displeased it 
had not occurred an hour sooner. Such, however, was not my re- 
ception. Though the four girls were all youthful, blooming, pretty, 
delicate in appearance, according to the fashion of American 
women, and tolerably well attired, they had none of the calm ex- 
terior of conventional manner. One would speak quick to another; 
looks of surprise were often exchanged; there were not a few down- 
right giggles, and then each put on as dignified an air to meet the 
stranger as, under the circumstances, she could assume. 

“ 1 presume Miss Kitty Hugueniii is among you, young ladies,” 1 
commenced, bowing as civilly as was necessary; “ for this appears 
to be the house to which we were directed.” 

A girl of about sixteen, of decidedly pleasing appearance, and one 
who bore a sufficient resemblance to old Mrs. Wetmore to be rec- 
ognized, advanced a slepout-of the group, a little eagerly, and then 
a^ suddenly checked herself, with the timidity of her years and sex, 
as it afraid of going too tar. 

“lam Kitty,” she said, changing color once or twice; now Slush- 
ing, and now growing pale. “Is anything the matter, sir? has 
grandmother sent for me?” 

“ Nothingis the matter, unless you can call good news something 
the matter. "W^e have just left your grandmother’s on business, 


MILES WALLIKGEOIiD. 


43 

having been up to Squire Van Tassel’s on her affairs; rather than 
let us go on foot, she lent us her chaise, on condition that we should 
stop on our return and bring you honae with us.^ The chaise is the 
evidence that we act under ordersr” 

In most countries, such a proposition would have excited distrust; 
in America, and in that day, more especially among girls of the class 
of Kitty Huguenin, it produced none. Then, 1 flatter myself, 1 was 
not a very frightful object to a girl of that age, and that my counte- 
nance was not of such a cast as absolutely to alarm her. • Kitty, ac- 
cordingly, wished her companions hasty adieus, and in a minute she 
was placed between Marble and myself, the old vehicle being 
sufficiently spacious to accommodate three. 1 made my bows, and 
away we trotted, or ambled would be a better word. For a brief 
space there was silence in the chaise, though I could detect Marble 
stealing sidelong glances at his pretty little niece. His eyes were 
moist, and he hemmed violently once, and actually blew his nose, 
taking occasion, at the same time, to pass his handkerchief over his 
forehead, no less than three times in as many minutes. The'fur- 
tive manner in which he indulged in these feelings provoked me to 
say— 

“You appear to have a bad cold this evening, Mr. Wetmore,” for 
1 thought the opportunity might also be improveil in the way of 
breaking ground with our secret. 

“Ay, you know how it is in these matters. Miles — somehow, I 
scarce know why myself, but somehow 1 feel bloody womanish this 
evening.’’ 

1 felt little Kitty pressing closer to my side, as if she had certain 
misgivings touching her other neighbor. 

“"^1 suppose you are surprised. Miss Kitty,” 1 resumed, “ at find- 
ing two strangers in your grandmother’s chaise?” 

“ 1 did not expect it — but — you said you had been to Mr. Van 
Tassel’s, and that there was good news for me— does Squire Van 
Tassel allow that grandfather paid him the money?” 

“Not that exactly, but you have friends who will see that no . 
wrong shall be done you. J suppose you have been afraid your 
grandmother and yourself might be turned away from the old 
place?” 

“ Squire Van Tassel’s daughters have boasted as much,” answered 
Kitty, in a very subdued tone— a voice indeed, that grew lower and 
more tremulous as she proceeded — “ but 1 don’t much mind them, 
for they think their father is to own the whole country one of these 
days.” This was uttered with spirit. “But the old house was 
built by grandmother’s grandfather, they say, and grandmother was 
born in it, and mother was born in it, and so was I. It is hard to 
leave a place like that, sir, and for a debt too, that grandmother 
says she is sure has once been paid.” 

“ Ay, bloody hard!” growled Marble. 

Kitty again pressed nearer to me, or, to speak more properly, 
further from the mate, whose countenance was particularly grim 
just at that moment. 

“ All that you say is very true, Kitty,” 1 replied; “but Provi- 
dence has sent you friends to take care that no wrong shall be done 
your grandmother ^r yourself.” 


44 MILES M-ALLINGFORD. 

“ You’re right enough’ in that, JMiles,” put in the mate, ‘‘ God 
bless the old lady; she shall never sleep out ot the house, with my 
consent, unless it is when she sails down the river to go to the 
theater, and the museum, the ten or fifteen Dutch churches there 
are in town, and alf them ’ere sort o’ thingumerees.” 

Kitty gazed at her left-hand neighbor with surprise, but 1 could 
, feel that maiden bashfulness induced her to press less closely to my 
side than she had done the minute before. 

“ 1 don’t understand you,” Kilty answered, after a short pause, 
during which she was doubtless endeavoring to comprehend what 
she had heard, “ Graadmother has no w ish to go to town: she only 
wants to pass the rest ot her days, quietly, at the old place, and one 
church is enou 2 :h for anybody.” 

Had the little girl lived a few years later, she would have ascer- 
tained that some persons required half a dozCn. 

“ And you, Kitty, do you suppose your grandmother has lio 
thought for you, when she shall be called aw’ay -herself ?” 

“ Oh, yes! 1 know she thinks a good deal of that, but I try to 
set her heart at ease, poor, dear old grandmother, lor it’s of no use 
to be distressing herself about me! can take care ot myself w^ell 
enough, and have plenty of friends, who will never see ine want. 
Father’s sisters say they’ll take care of me. ” 

“ You have one friend, Kitty, of whom you little think, just now, 
and he will provide for you.” 

“ 1 don’t know w’hom you mean, sir— unless— and yet — you can’t 
suppose I never think of God, sir?” 

“ I mean a friend on earth — have you no friend on earth wdioni 
you have not mentione$l yet?” 

“lam not sure— perhaps— you do not mean Horace Bright, do 
you, sir?” 

This W'as said with a bright blush, and a look in which the dawm- 
ing consciousness of maiden shame was so singularly blended wuth 
almost childish innocence, as both to delight rne, and yet cause me 
to smile. 

“ And who is Horace Bright?” 1 asked, assuming as grave au air 
as possible. 

“ Oh! Horace is nobody — only tKe son of one of our neighbors. 
There, don’t you see the old stone house that stands among the apple 
and cherry trees, on the bank of the river, just here in a line with 
this barn?’’ 

“ Quite plainly, and a very pretty place it is. "We w^ere admiring 
it as we drove up the road.” 

“ Well, that is Horace Bright’s fathec’s, and one of the best farms 
in the neighborhood. But you mustn’t mind what he says, grand- 
mother always tells me; boys love to talk grandly, and all the folks 
about here feel for us, though most of them are afraid of Squire Y'an 
Tassel too.” 

“ 1 place no reliance at all on Horace’s talk, not I. It is just as 
your grandmother tells you; boys are fond ot making a parade, and 
often utter things they don’t mean.” 

“ Well, 1 don’t think that is Horace’s way in the least, though 1 
wouldn’t have you suppose I ever think" the least in the world 


45 


MILES WALLIKGEOED. 

about what Horace says concerning rcy never being left to want. 
My own aunts will take care of 

“ And should they fail you, my dear,” cried Marble, with strong 
feeling, ” your ownuncU would step into their places, without wait- 
ing to have his memory jogged.” 

Again Kitty looked surprised, a very little startled , and again she 
pressed to my side. 

” 1 have ho uncle,” she answered, timidly. . “ Father never had 
a brother, and grandmother’s son is dead.”, 

” No, Kitty,” 1 said, giving a look at Marble to keep him quiet; 
“ in the last you are mistaken. This is the good news of which we 
spoke. Your grandmother’s son is not dead, but living, and in good’ 
health. He is found, acknowledged, has passed the afternoon with 
yonr grandmother, has money more than enough to satisfy even the 
unjust demand* of the miseily Van Tassel, and will be a father to 
you. ” 

” Oh! dear me, can this be true?” exclaimed Kitty, pressing still 
closer than ever to my side ” And are you uncle, after all, and 
will it all come out as j-ou say? Poor, poor grandmother, and 1 
not at home to hear it all, and to help her under such a great trial!” 

” Your grandmother was a little distressed of course, at first, but 
she bore it all remarkably well, and is as happy at this moment as 
you yourself could wish her to be. You are under a mistake, how^- 
ever, in supposing I am your uncle. Ho 1 look old enough to be 
your mother’s brother?” 

” Hear me, no— 1 might have seen that, hadn’t 1 been so silly — 
can it be this other gentleman?”' 

Here Marble took his hint from nature, and clasiiing the prkty 
young creature in his arms, he kissed her with an affection and 
warmth that were truly paternal. Poor Kitty was frightened at first, 
and I dare say like her grandmother, in a slight degree disappointed, 
but there was so much heartiness in . the mate’s manner, that It 
reassured her in a degree. 

” I’m a bloody poor uncle, I know, Kitty, for a young woman 
like you to own,” Marble got out, though sorely tempted to blubber; 
“ but there’s worse in the world, as you’ll discover, no doubt, in 
time. Such as I am, you must take me, and from this time hence- 
forth do not care a straw for old Van Tassel, or any other griping 
vagabond like him, in York State.’' 

"Uncle is a sailor!” Kitty answered, after being fairly released 
from the mate’s rough embrace. ‘‘ Grandmother heard once that 
he was a soldier.” 

** Ay, that comes of lying. I don’t think they could have made 
a soldier of me, had two wicked nurses run away with me, and had 
they’ placed me on fifty tombstones, by way of commencing life. 
My natur’ would revolt at carrying a musket, for sartain, while the 
seas have always been a sort of home to me.” 

Kitty made no answer to this, being a little in doubt, 1 believe, 
as to the manner in which she was to regard this new acquisition of 
an uncle. 

‘‘Tour, grandparents did suppose your uncle a soldier,”! re- 
marked, ‘‘ but, after the man was seen the mistake was discovered, 


46 MILES AVALLIMGEORD. 

and now the truth has come out in a way that will admit ot no dis- 
P^de.” 

‘ How is uncle named?” demanded the niece, in a, low voice, and 
a hesitating manner. ‘‘ Mother’s brother was christened Oloft, 1 
have heard grandmother say.” 

‘‘ Very true, dear; we’ve been ail over that, the old lady and 1. 
They tell me too 1 was christened by the name of Moses — I suppose 
you know who Moses was, child?” 

To be sure, uncle!” said Kitty, with a little laugh of surprise. 
” He was the great law-maker of the Jews.” 

” Ha, Miles, is that so?” 

1 nodded assent. 

” And do you kndw about his being found in the bulrushes, and 
the story of the King of Ethiopia’s daughter?” 

” The King of Egypt, you mean, do you not, TJncle Oloff?” cried 
Kitty, with another little laugh. 

” Well, Ethiopia or Egypt; it’s all pretty much the same— this 
girl has been wonderfully edicated, Miles, and will turn out famous 
company for me, in the long winter evenings, some twenty years 
hence, or when I’ve worked my way up into the latitude of the 
dear, good old soul under the hill yonder. ” 

A slight exclamation from Kitty was followed by a blush, and a 
change of expression, that showed she was thinking, Just at that 
moment, of anything but Uncle Oloff. 1 asked an explanation. 

” It’s only Horace Bright, out yonder m the orchard, looking at 
us. He will be puzzled to know who is with me, here, in the old 
chaise. Horace thinks he can drive a horse better than any one 
about here, so you must be careful how you hold the reins, or use 
the whip. Horace!” 

I'his boded no good to Marble’s plans tor passing the evenings of 
his old age with Kitty to amuse him; but, as we w^ere now on the 
brow ot the hill, with the cottage in sight, Horace Bright was soon 
lost to view. To do the girl justice, she appeared now to think only’’ 
of her grandmother, and of the effects the recent discovery of 
her son would be likely to produce on one of her years and infirrair 
ties. As for myself, 1 W’as surprised to see Mr. Haidinge in earnest 
conversation with old Mrs. TVetmore, both seated on the stoop ot the 
cottage, in the mild summer’s evening, and Lucy walking to and 
fro, on the short grass of the willow bottom, with an impatience 
and restlessness ot manner it was very unusual for her to exhibit. 
No sooner was Kitty alighted, than she ran to her grandmother, 
Marble following, while I hastened to the point where was to be 
tound the great object of my interest. Lucy’s face was full of feel- 
ing and concern, and she received me with an extended hand, that 
gracious as was the act itself, and most grateful as it would have 
proved to me under other circumstances, 1 now feared boded no 
good. 

” Miles, you have been absent an age!” Lucy commenced. “ 1 
should be disposed to reproach you, had not the extraordinary story 
of this good old woman explained it all. I feel the want of air and 
exercise; give me your arm, and we will walk a short distance up 
the road. My dear father will not be inclined to quit that happy 
fa’oily, so long as any light is left.” 


MILES WALLINGEOED. 


47 

1 gave Lucy my arm, and we did walk up the road tooeiher, 
actually ascending tlie hill 1 had just descended; but all this did 
not induce me to overlook the fact that Lucy’s manner was hurried 
and excited. The whole seemed so inexplicable, that 1 thought 1 
would wait her own pleasure in the matter. 

“ Yf)ur friend, Marble,” she continued — “ 1 do not know why [ 
ought not to say our friend. Marble, must be a very happy man at 
having, at length, discovered’who his parents are, and to have dis- 
covered them to be so respectable and worthy of his aijection. ” 

” As yet, he seems to be more bewildered than happy, as indeed, 
does the whole family. The thing has come on them so unex- 
pectedly, that there lias not been time to bring their feelings in 
harmony with the facts.” 

Family affection is a blessed thing. Miles,” Lucy resumed, after 
a short pause, speaking in her thoughtful manner; “ there is little 
in this world that can compensate for its loss. It must have been 
sad, sad to the poor fellow to have lived so long without father, 
mother, sister, brother, or any other known relative.” 

‘‘ I. believe Marble found it so; yet 1 think he felt the supposed 
disgrace of his birth more than his solitary condition. The man has 
warm affections at the bottom, though he has a most uncouth man- 
ner of making it known.” 

“lam surprised one so circumstanced never thought of marry- 
ing; he might, at least, have lived in the bosom of his own family, 
though he never knew' that of a father.” 

” These are the suggestions of a tender and devoted female heart, 
dear Lucy; but what has a sailor to do with a wife? 1 have heard 
it said Sir John Jervis — the present Lord St. Vincent — always de- 
clared a married seaman a seaman spoiled; and 1 believe Marble 
loves a ship so well he would baidy know how to love a woman.” 

Lucy made no answer to this indiscreet and foolish speech. Why 
it was made, I scarce knew myself; but the heart has its bitter 
moods, when it prompts sentiments and declarations that are very 
little in accordance with its real impulses. 1 was so much ashamed 
of what 1 had just said, and in truth, so much frightened, that, -in- 
stead of attempting to laugh it off as a silly, unmeaning opinion, 
or endeavoring to explain that this was not my own way of think- 
ing, 1 walked on some distance in silence, myself, and suffered my 
companions to imitate me in this particular. 1 have since had rea- 
son to think that Lucy was not pleased at my manner of treating the 
subject, though, blessed creature! she had another matter to com- 
municate, that lay too heavy on her heart to allow one of her gener- 
ous, disinterested nature to think much of anything else. 

“ Miles,” Lucy at length broke the silence by saying, “ 1 wish, 1 
do wish, we had not inet that other sloop this thornlng.” 

1 stopped short in the highway, dropped my beautiful compan- 
ion’s arm, and stood gazing intently in her face, as if 1 would read 
her inmost thoughts through those windows of the soul, her serene, 
mild, tender, blue eyes. I saw that the face was colorless, and that 
the beautiful lips, out of which the words that had alarmed me 
more by their accents than their direct signification, had proceeded, 
were quivering in a way that their lovely mistress could not con- 
trol. Tears, as large as heavy drops of rain, too, were trembling on 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


48 

the long silken eyelashes, while the very attitude of the precious 
girl denoted hopelessness and grief ! 

“ This relates to Grace!” 1 exclaimed, though my throat was so 
parched as almost to choke my utterance. 

” Whom, or what else can now occupy our minds. Miles? 1 can 
scarce think of anything but Grace< when 1 do, it is to remember 
that my own brother has killed her!” 

What answer could i have made to such a speech, had my mind 
been suflSciently at ease as respects my sister to think of anything 
else? As it was, 1 did not even attempt the vain office of saying 
anything in the way of alleviating my companion’s keen sense of 
the misconduct of Rupert. 

” Grace is then worse in consequence of this unhappy rencoun- 
ter?” I observed, rather than asked. 

‘‘Oh! Miles; what a conversation I have had with her this after- 
noon! She speaks, already, more like a being that belongs to the 
regions of the blessed, than like one of earth! Tliere is no longer 
apy secret between us. She would gladly have avoided telling me 
her precise situation with Rupert, but we had already gone so far, 1 
would know more. 1 thought it might relieve her mind; and there 
was the chance, however slight, of its enabling us to suggest some 
expedient to produce still further good. 1 think it has had some of 
the first effect, for she is now sleeping.” 

‘‘ Did Grace say anything of your communicating this miserable 
t^le to me?” 

‘ ‘ It is, indeed, a miserable tale ! Miles, they were engaged from the 
time Grace was fifteen! . Engaged distinctly, and in terms', 1 mean; 
not by any of tire implied understandings, % which those who were 
so intimate, generally, . might believe themselves bound to each 
, other,” 

” And in what manner did so early and long-continued an en- 
gagement cease?” 

‘‘ It came from Rupert, who should have died first, before he was 
so untrue to himself, to my poor father, to me, to all of us, Miles, 
as well as to his own manhood. It has been as we supposed; he 
has been deluded by the eclat that attaches to these Mertons in our 
provincial society; and Emily is rather a showy girl, j'du know — at 
least for those who are accustomed only to our simple habUs.” 

Alas! little did Lucy then know—she'has leafned better since— that 
“showy ” girls belong much more to our” simple ” state of society, 
than to the state of those which are commonly conceived to be more 
advanced. But Emily Merton was, in a slight degree, more artificial 
in her manner than it was usual for a Manhattanese female of that 
- day to be, and this was what Lucy meant; Lucj', who always 
thought so humbly of herself, and was ever so ready to concede ta 
her rivals all that could plausibly be asked in their behalf. 

“lam well aware how much importance the leading set among 
ourselves attaches to English connection, and English rank,” ). an- 
swered; ” but it does not strike me Emily Merton is of a class so 
elevated, that Rupert Hardinge need break his faith in order to reap 
the advantage of belonging to her or her family.” 

” It can not be altogeth^er that. Miles,” Lucy added, in an ap- 
pealing, but touchingly confidential manner, “you and 1 have known 


:MILES WALLi:N'GrORD. 


49 

each other from children, and, whatever may be the weakoesses of 
one who is so dear to me, aud who, 1 hope, has not altogether lost 
his hold on your own affections, we can still rely on each other. 1 
shall speak to you with the utmost dependence on your friendsliip, 
and a reliance on your heart that is not second to that which I place 
on my dear father’s, for this is a subject on which there ought to be 
no concealment between us. It is impossible that one as manly, as 
upright, as honest, 1 will say, as yourself, can have lived so long in 
close intimacy with Rupert, and not be aware that he has marked 
defects of character. ” 

“1 have Iona: known that he is capricious,*’ 1 answered, unwill- 
ing to be severe on the faults of Lucy’s brother, to Lucy’s own ear; 
“ perhaps 1 might add, that 1 have known he pays loo much atten- 
tion to fashion, and the opinions of fashionable people.’’ 

“ jSTay, as we can not deceive ourselves, let us not attempt the un- 
grateful task of endeavoring to deceive each other,” the true-hearted 
girl-replied, though she said this with so great an effort, that 1 was 
compelled to listen attentively to, catch all she uttered. “Rupert 
has tailings worse than these. He is mercenary; nor is he always 
a man of truth. Heaven knows how 1 have wept over these defects 
of character, and the pain they have given me from childhood! But, 
my dear, dear father overlooks them all — or, rather, seeing them, 
he hopes all things; it is hard for a parent to believe a child irre- 
claimable.” 

1 was unwilling to let Lucy say any more on this subject, for her 
voice, her countenance, 1 might almost say her whole figure showed 
how much it cost her to say even this much of Rupert. 1 had long 
known that Lucy did not respect her brother as much as she could 
wish; but this was never before betrayed to me in words, nor in any 
other manner, indeed, that would not have eluded the observation 
of one who knew the parties less thoroughly than myself. 1 could 
perceive that she felt the awful consequences she foresaw from her 
brother’s conduct gave me a claim on her sincerity, and that she 
•was suffering martyrdom, in order to do all that lay in her power to 
lessen the force of the blow that unworthy relative had infiicted. It 
would have been ungenerous in me to suffer such a sacrifice to con- 
tinue a moment longer than was necessary. 

“ Spare yourself and me, dearest Lucy,” 1 eagerly said, “ all ex- 
planations but those which are necessary to let me know the exact 
state of my sister’s case. 1 confess, I could wish to understand, 
however, the manner in which Rupert has contrived to explain 
away an engagement, that has lasted four years, and ’v\’hich must 
have been the source of so much innocent confidence between Grace 
and himself.” 

“ 1 was coming to that, Miles; and when you know it, you will 
know all. Grace has felt his attentions to Emily Merton, for a long 
time; but there never was a verbal explanation between them until 
just before she left town. Then she felt it due to herself to know 
thetrutb; and after a conversation which was not very particular, 
your sister offered to release Rupert from his engagement, did he in 
the least desire it.” 

“ And what answer did he make to a proposal that was as gener- 
ous as it was frank?” 


-50 


MILES WALLIKGEOKD. 


1 must do Grace the justice to say. Miles, that, in all she said, 
she used the utmost tenderness toward my brother. Still 1 could 
not but ^jather the substance of what passed. Rupert, at first, 
affected to believe that Grace, herself, wished to break the enga^ce- 
ment; but, in this, you well know, her ingenuous simplicity would 
not permit him to succeed. She did not attempt to conceal how 
deeply she should feel the change in her situation, and how much 
it might influence her future haupiness. ” 

“ Ay, that was like both of them— like Rupert, and like Grace,” 
1 muttered, huskily. 

Lucy continued silent an instant, apparently to allow me to regain 
my self-command; then she continued — 

‘‘ When Rupert found that the responsibility of the rupiure must 
rest on him, he spoke more Sincerely. He owned to Grace that his 
views .ha.d changed; said they were both loo young to contract 
themselves when they did, and that he had made an engagement to 
marry, at a time when he was unfit to bind himself to so solemn a 
contract — said, something about minors, and concluded by speaking 
of his poverty and total inability to support a wife, now that Mrs, 
Bradfort had left me the whole of her property.” 

‘‘ And this is the man who wished to make the -world believe that 
he is the true heir!— nay, who told. me himself, that he considers 
you as only a sort of trustee, to hold half, or two thirds of the estate 
until he has had leisure to sow his wild oats.” 

‘‘ 1 know he has encouraged such notions. Miles,” Lucy answered, 
in a low voice; “how gladly would 1 realize his hopes, -it things 
could be placed where we once thought they Were! Every dollar of 
Mrs. Bradfort’s fortune would 1 relinquish with joy, to see Grace 
happy, or Rupert honest.” 

“lam afraid we shall never see the first Lucy, in this world, at 
least.” 

“ 1 have never wished for this engagement since I have been old 
enough to judge of my brother’s true character. He would ever have 
been too fickle, and of principles too light, to satisfy Grace’s heart, 
or her judgment. There may have been some truth in his plea that 
the engagement was loo early and inconsiderately made. Persons so 
young’ can hardly know what will, or what vrill not be necessary to 
their own characters a few years later. As it is, even Grace would 
now refuse to marry Rupert. She owned to me, that the heaviest 
part of the blow was being undeceived in relation to his character. 
1 spoke to her with greater freedom than a sister ought to have 
used, perhaps, but 1 wisned to arouse her pride, as the means of sav- 
ing her. Alas! Grace is all affections, and ^those once withered, 1 
fear, Miles,' the rest of her being will go wil^ them.” 

1 made no answer to this prophetic remark. Lucy’s visit to the 
shore, her manner, and all that she had said, convincing me that 
she had had, in a great degree,’ taken leave of hope. We conversed 
some time longer, returning toward the cottage; but there was noth- 
ing further to communicate that it is necessary to record. Neither 
of us thought of self, and 1 would as soon have attempted to dese- 
crate a church, as attempt to obtain any influence over Lucy, in my 
own behalf, at such a moment. All my feelings reverted to my 
poor sister again, and 1 was dying with impatience to return to the 


MILES WALLmGFOED. 


51 


sloop. whUher, indeed, it was time to repair, the sun haying gome 
time before disappeared, while even the twilight was drawing to a 
close. 


CHAI’TER V. 

The serpent of the field, by art 
And spells, is won from harming. 

But that which coils around the heart. 

Oh! who hath power of charming? 

Hebrew Melodies. 

It was not easy to make Mr. Hardinge a sharer iu my impatience. 
He had taken a fancy to Marble, and w'as as much rejoiced at this 
accidental discovery of the mate’s parentage, as if he had been one 
of the family himself. With such feelings, therefore, 1 had a good 
deal of difficulty in getting him away. 1 asked Marble to go ofif 
with me, it being understood that he was to be landed again, in 
order to pass the first night of his recognition under his mother’s 
roof. To this scheme, however, he raised an objection, as soon as 
told it was my intention to go down the river as far as New York 
in quest of further medical advice, insisting on accompanying me, 
in order to obtain the thousand dollars with which to face. Squire 
Van Tassel, or,, at least, his mortgage sale. Accordingly, there 
were leave-takings, and about eight we were all on ’ooard the sloop. 

1 did not see, nor did 1 ask to see> my sister again, that night. 1 
had not seen her, indeed, since the moment Rupert was discovered 
in company with the Mertons; and, to own the truth, 1 felt afraid 
to see her, knowing, as 1 did, how much her frame 'was apt to be 
affected by her mind. It appeared to me there remained but the 
single duty to perform, that of getting below as fast as possible, in 
order to obtain' the needed medical aid. It is true, we possessed 
Post’s written instructions, and knew his opinion that the chief thing 
was to divert Grace’s thoughts from dwelling on the great cause of 
her malady; but now he had left us, it seemed as if 1 should neglect 
a most sacred duty, did I delay obtaining some other competent phy- 
sician. 

The tide turned at nine, and we got immediately under way, with 
a light south-west wind. . As for Marble, ignorant as Mr. Hardinge 
himself of the true condition of my sister, he determined to celebrate 
his recent discoveries by a supper. 1 was about to object to the proj- 
ect, on account of Grace, but Lucy begged me to let him have his 
way; such convives as my late guardian and my own mate were not 
likely to be very boisterous; and she fancied that the conversation, 
or such parts of it as should be heard' through the bulkhead, might 
serve to divert the invalid’s mind from dwelling too intently on the 
accidental rencounter of the morning. The scheme was consequent- 
ly carried out; and, in the course of an hour, the cabins of the “ Wal- 
lingford ” presented a singular spectacle. In her berth was Grace, 
patiently and sweetly lending herself to her friend’s wish to seem to 
listen to her own account of the reason of the mate’s festa, and to be 
amused by his sallies; Lucy, alLcare and attention for her patient, 
as 1 could discover through the open door of the after-cabin, while 
she endeavored to appear to enter into the business that was going 


52 


MILES WALLI^^GPOKD. 


on at the table, actually taking wine with the mate, and drinking 
to the happiness of his newly-found relatives; Mr. Hardinge, over- 
flowing with philanthropy, and so much engrossed with 'his com- 
panion’s good fortune as not to think of aught else at the moment; 
Marble, himself, becoming gradually more under the influence of 
his new situation, as his feelings had time to gather force ^nd take 
their natural direction; while 1 was compelled to wear the semblance 
of joining his festivities at an instant when my whole soul was en- 
grossed with anxiety on behalf of Grace. 

“ This milk is just the richest and best that ever came on board a 
vessel!” exclaimed the mate, as he was about to wind up his own 
share of the repast with a cup of coffee — “ and as for butter, 1 can 
say 1 never tasted the article before. Little Kitty brought both 
down to the boat with her own hands, and that makes tnem so much 
the sweeter, too, tor if anything can add to the excellence of eat- 
ables, it is to have them pass through the hands of one’s own rela- 
tions. 1 dare say, Mr. Hardinge, now', you have verified this, time 
and again, in your own experience!” 

“ In feeling, my friend; in feeling, often, though little in practice, 
in th^ sense that you mean. My family has been my congregation, 
unless, indeed. Miles here, and his beloved sister, can be added to 
my owm children in fad, as they certainly are in affection. But, 1 
can understand how butter made by fhe hands of one’s own mother, 
or by those of such a pretty niece as your Kitty, would taste all the 
sweeter.” 

” It’s such a providential thing, as you call it, to find such a 
mother in the bargain! Kow 1 might have discovered a slattern, of 
a scold, or a woman of bad character; or one that never went to 
church; or even one that swore and drank; tor, begging your par- 
don, Miss Lucy, just such creatur’s are to be met with; whereas, in- 
stead of any of these disagreeable recommendations, I’ve fallen in 
with an A No. 1 mother; ay, and such an old lady as the King of 
England, himself, need not be ashamed to own.* 1 felt a strong 
desire, Mr. Hardinge, to get down on my knees, and to ask the 
dear, good old soul, just to ‘say, ‘ God bless you, my dear son, Moses, 
Van Duzer, or Oloff, whatever your name may be,’ ” 

“And if you had, Mr. Marble, you would not have been any the 
worse for it. Such feelings do you honor, and no man need be 
ashamed of desiring to receive a parent’s blessing.” 

“ 1 suppose now, my dear sir,” added Marble, innocently, “ that 
is what is called having a religious turn? I’ve often foreseen that 
religion would fetch me up in the long run; and now that I am 
altogether relieved from bitterness of heart on the subject of belong- 
ing to hone, and no one’s belonging to me, my sentiments have un- 
dergone a great alteration, and I feel a wish to be at peace with the 
whole human family — no, not with the whole ; 1 except that rascally 
old Van Tassel.” 

“ Vou must except no one— we are told to ‘ love those that hate 
us, to bless those that curse us, and to pray tor those that despite- 
f ully use us. ’ ” 

* In that day, all allusions to royalty were confined to the majesty of Great 
Britain ; it being no uncommon thing, at the commencem.ent of this centuiy, to 
hear '•'•The King ” toasted at many of the best tables of the countrj-. 


MILES WALLIXGE.OKD. 53 - 

Marble stared at Mr. Hardinge; for, to own the truth, it would 
have been difficult, in a Christian land, to meet with one of his years 
w'ho had less religious instruction than himself. It is quite proba- 
ble that these familiar mandates had never been heard by him' be- 
fore; but I could Bee that he was a little struck with the profound 
morality that so pervaded them; a morality to which no human heart 
appears to be insensible as not in secret to acknowledge its sublimity. 
Still he doubted. 

“ Where are we told to do this, my dear sir?” demanded Marble, 
after looking intently at the rector for a moment. 

“ There? why, where we get all our divine precepts and inspired 
morality, the Bible, lou must come to wish this Mr. Tan Tassel 
good, instead of evil; try to love, instead of hating him.” 

“ Is that religion?” demanded the mate, in his most dogmatical 
and determined manner. 

“It is Christianity— -its spirit, its very essence; without which 
the heart ean not be right, let the tongue proclaim what delusion it 
may.” 

Marble had imbibed a sincere respect for my late guardian, equally 
from what he had’ heard me say in his favor, and what he had seen 
himself, of his benevolent feelings, kind-hearted morality, and e.t- 
cellent sense. Nevertheless, it was not an easy matter to teach a 
being like Marble the lesson that he was to do good to those who 
used him despitefully; and just at that morhent he w^as in a frame 
of mind to do almost any thing else, sooner than pardon Van Tassel. 
All this 1 could see, understanding the man so well, and, in order 
to prevent a useless discussion that might disturb my sister, 1 man- 
aged to change the discourse before it was too late*" 1 say too late, 
because it is not easy to shake off two moralists, wffio sustain their 
doctrines as strongly as Mr. Hardinge and my mate. 

“ I am glad the name of this Mr. Van Tassel has been men- 
tioned,” 1 observed, “ as it may be well to have your advice, sir, 
concerning our best mode of proceeding in his affair.” 

I then related to Mr. Hardinge the history of the mortgage, and 
the necessity there was for promptitude, inasmuch as the sale was 
advertised for the ensuing week. My late guardian was better ac- 
quainted with the country, up the river, than 1 w^as myself; and it 
was fortunate the subject was broached, as he soon convinced me 
the. only course to be pursued was to put Marble ashore at Hudson, 
where if too late for the regular stage, he might obtain some other 
conveyance, and proceed to town by land. This would barely leave 
him time to transact all the necessary business, and to be back in 
season to prevent the title to the Willow Cove from passing into the 
usurer’s grasp. As was usual 'with Mr. Hardinge, he entered into 
this, as into every good work, heart and hand, and immediately set 
about writing directions for Marble’s government wdien he got 
ashore. This put an end to the banquet, and glad w-as I to see the 
table removed and the other signs of a tranquil night reappear. 

It was twelve before the sloop w-as as low* as Hudson, and 1 saw 
by our rate of sailing, that, indeed, there w'as little prospect ot her 
reaching New York in time for Marble’s necessities. He w-as landed, 
therefore, and Mr. Hardinge and myself accompanied him to the 
stage-house, w-here we ascertained that the next morning after break- 


54 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


fast he would be enabled to get into the stage, which would reach, 
town in the evening of the succeeding day. But this was altogether 
too slow for Marble’s impatience. He insisted onprocuiinga private 
conveyance, and we saw him drive out of the long street lhat then 
composed most of the city of Hudson, at a slapping pace, about one 
o’clock in the morning. This important duty discharged, Mr. 
Hardinge and 1 returned to the sloop in which Keb had been stand- 
ing oft and on, in waiting for us, and again made sail down the 
river. When 1 turned in, the “ Wallingford ” was getting along at 
the rate of about five miles the hour; the wind having freshened, 
and come out at the westward, a quarter that just enabled her to lay 
her course. 

The reader will easily imagine 1 did not oversleep myself the fol- 
lowing morning. My uneasiness was so great, indeed, lhat 1 
dreamed of the dreadful accident which had produced nw father’s 
death, and then fancied that 1 saw him, my mother, and Grace, all 
interred at the same time, and in the same grave. Fortunately, the 
wind stood ai the west, and the sloop was already within twenty 
miles of the creek at Clawbonny when 1 got on deck. All was quiet 
in the after cabin, and, Mr. Hardinge still continuing in his berth, 1 
w'ent out to breathe the fresh mor-ning air, without speaking to any 
below. There was no one on the quarter-deck but the pilot, wha 
w'as at the helm, though 1 saw a pair of legs beneath the boom, 
close in with the mast, that 1 knew to be Heb’s, and a neat, dark 
petticoat that 1 felt certain must belong to Chloe. 1 ‘approached 
the spot, intending to question the former on the subject of the 
weather during his watch, but just as 1 was about to liail him, 1 
heard the young lady say, in a more animated tone than was dis- 
creet for the character of the conversation — 

“ Ho, nebher, sah — nehher, w idout de apperbation of my modder and 
de whole famerly. Mattermony a berry dift'er t’ing. Neb, from what 
your surposes. Now, many a young nigger gentleman imagine dat 
he has only to coax his gal to say ‘ yes,' and den dey goes to the 
clergy and stands up for de blessing and imagines all right for de 
futur’, and for the present time, all which is just a derliision and 
a' deiception. No, sah, mattermony a berry ditter t ing from daty 
as any old lady can tell you. De fuss t'ing in mattermony is to hab 
^consent.'' 

“ Well, Chloe, and hab’n’t 1 had dis berry consent from you now 
for most tw’o year?” 

“ Ay, dat not de consent 1 surposes. You wouldn’t t’ink. Neb, 
ungrateful feller, to get marry, widout first askin’ de consent of 
Masser Mile, 1 do surpose! \ou, who has been his own waiter so 
long, and has gone to sea wid him so often, and has saved his life, 
and has helped kill so many hateful saverges, and has been on a 
desert conternent wid him.” 

“ I nebber told you dat, Chloe — 1 said on an island.” 

” Well, what’s the differ? You can not tell me any tfing of eder- 
cation. Neb, for 1 hab hear Miss Grace and^liss Lucy say deir les- 
son so often dat I sometimes surposes 1 can say ’em all, one Dy one, 
almost as well as my young lady ’emselves. No, Neb, on dM.swh- 
jeck better be silent. You been much too busy ebber to be edercated. 


MILES WALLIXOFOED. 55 

and it 1 do marry you, remember 1 now tell you 1 shall not enter into 
maltermony wid you on account of any edercation you hab.” 

“ All Clawbonny say dat we can make as good a couple, Chloe, 
as ebber stood up togedder. ’ ’ 

All Clawbonny don’t know much of mattermony, Neb. Peo- 
ple talks inderskrimernaterly, and doesn’t know what dey says, too 
often. In de fuss place my modder, my own born modder, opposes 
our uner, and dat is a very great difterculty to berjin wid. "When a 
born modder opposes, a darter ought to t’ink sebberal time.” 

“ Let me speak to MasserMile; he’ll fetch up her objeckshun wid 
a round turn.” 

■ ■” What dat. Neb?” 

It mean masser will order her to consent.” 

“ Dat mebber saterty my conscience. Neb. We be nigger, dat 
true, but no Clawbonny master ebber tell a Clawbonny slabe to get 
marry or not to get marry, as he choose. Dat would be intollabull, 
and not to be supported! No, mattermony is religion, and religion 
free. No color’ young lady hab vergin affeckshun to trow ’em 
away on just whom her masser say. ^But, Neb, dere one odder 
difterculty to our uner dat 1 don’t know— sometime 1 feel awful 
about it!” 

As Chloe now spoke naturally, for the first time. Neb was evi- 
dently startled, and 1 had sufficient amusement and sufficient curi- 
osity to remain stationary in order to hear what this new obstacle 
mifi lit be. The voice of the negress was music itself, almost as 
sweet as Lucy’s, and 1 was struck with a light tremor that pervaded 
it, as she so suddenly put an end to all her own affectation of senti- 
ment. and nipped her airs and graces, as it might be, in the bud. 

” Nebber talk to me of mattermony. Neb,” Chloe continued, al- 
most sobbing as she spoke, ” while Miss Grace be in dis berry bad 
way! It hard enough to see her look so pale and melercholy, with- 
out finking of becomin’.a wife.” 

” Miss Grace will grow better, now Masser Mile carry her on de 
water. If he only take her to sea, she get so fat and hearty, no 
libbin’ wid her !” 

Chloe did not acquiesce in this opinion; she rather insisted that 
“ Miss Grace” was altogether too delicate and refined a person to 
live in a ship. But the circumstance that struck me with the greatest 
force, in this characteristic dialogue, was the fact that Chloe be- 
trayed to me the consciousness of the cause of my sister’s indisposi- 
tion; while, true to her sex’s instincts, and faithful to her duty, the 
girl completely concealed it from her lover. 1 was also oppressively 
struck with the melancholy forebodings that appeared in Chloe’s ' 
manner, rather than in her words, and which made it apparent that 
she doubted of her young mistress’s recovery. She concluded the 
conversation by saying — 

“ No, no, Neb, don’t talk to me of mattermony while Miss Grace 
so ill; and if any t’ing should happen, you need nebber talk to me 
of it at all. 1 could nebber t’ink of any uiier ” (union), ” should 
any t’ing happen to Miss Grace. Lub ” (love) “ will die forebber 
in de family, when Miss Grace die!” 

1 turned away at this speech, the tears starting- to my eyes, and 
■Saw Luc}^ standing in the companion-way. She was waiting to 


00 


:mil£S walli:n^gfoed. 

speak to me, and no sooner caught my eye, than, beckoning me to 
her side, she let me know that my sister desired to see me. Erasing 
every sign of emotion as soon as possible, 1 descended with Lucy, 
sand was soon at the side of my sister’s berth. 

Grace received me with an angelic smile; but 1 almost gasped for 
breath as 1 noticed the prodigious change that had come over her in 
so brief a space. She now looked more like a being of another 
world than ever; and this, too, immediately after coming from the 
jefreshment of a night’s rest. 1 kissed her forehead, which had tin 
unnaiural chill on it, 1 thought; and 1 felt the feeble pressure of an 
arm that was thrown affectionately around my neck. 1 then sat 
down on the transom, still holding my sister’s hand. Grace looked 
anxiously at me lor half a minute eie she spoke, as if to ascertain 
how far 1 was conscious of her situation. 

“ Lucy tells me, brother,” she at length said, ” that you think of 
carrying me down the river, as far as town, in order to get further 
advice. 1 hope this is a mistake of our dear Lucy’s, however?” 

“ It is not, Grace. If the wind stand here at the westward, 1 
hope to have you in Lucy’s own house in Wall Street, by to-morrow 
evening. 1 know she will receive you hospitably, and have vent- 
ured to form the plan without consulting jou on tne subject.” 

” Better that 1 should be at Clawboun}^ — if any thing can now do 
me good, brother, it will be native air, and pure country air. 
Hearken to my request, and stop at the creek.” 

” Your serious request, Grace, will be a law to me, if made on 
due reflection. This growing feebleness, however, alarms me; and 
1 can not justify it to myself not to send for advice.” 

” Remember, Miles, it is not yet twenty-four hours since one of 
the ablest men of the country saw me. AVe have his writteii instruc- 
tions; and, all that men can do for me, they will do for me. No, 
brother; listen to my entreaties, and go into the creek. I pine, 1 
pine to be again at dear Clawbonny, whefe alone 1 can enjoy any- 
thing like peace of body or mind. This vessel is unsuited to me; 1 
can not think of a future or pray in it. Brother, dearest brother, 
carry e home, if you love me!” 

There was no resisting such an appeal. I went on deck with a 
heavy heart, and gave the necessary orders to the pilot; and, in 
about eight-and-forty hours after we emerged into the Hudson, we 
left that noble stream again to shoot beneath the shaded, leafy 
banks of our own inlet. Grace w^as so feeble as to be carried to the 
chaise, in which she was supported by Lucy, duri:^ the short drive 
to the house. When I reached my qwn dwelling' r^dtind Mr. Har- 
dings pacing the little portico, or piazza, waiting for my arrival, 
with an uneasiness of manner that at once proclaimed his anxiety to 
see me. He had driven the horse of the chaise, and had imbibed a 
first impression of Grace’s danger. 

“Miles, my dear boy— my second son,” the simple-hearted, ex- 
cellent old man commenced; “ Miles, my dear boy, the hand of God 
has been laid heavily on us— your beloved sister, my own precious 
Grace, is fa-r more ill than 1 had any idea of before this morning.’' 

“ She is in the hands of her merciful Creator,” 1 said, struggling 
to command inyself, “ who, 1 greatly fear, is about to call her from 
a world that is not good enough for one so innocent and pure, to 


MILES WALLIJs’CtFORD. 


57 

take her to himseif. I liave foreseen this from the hour 1 first met 
her, after my return; though a single ray of hope dawned on me, 
when Post advised the change of scene. So far from producing 
good, this excursion has produced evil ; and she is much worse than 
when we left home. ” 

“ Such short-sighted mortals are we! But what can we do, my 
boy? 1 confess my judgment, my faculties themselves, are nearly 
annihilated by the suddenness of this shock. 1 had supposed her 
illness some trifling complaint that youth and care would certainly 
remove; and here we stand, as it might be, at the call of the trum- 
pet’s blast, almost around her gravel” 

” 1 am most anxious to lean on your wisdom and experience, my 
dear sir, at this critical moment; if you will advise, I shall be happy 
to follow your instructions.” 

AYe must lean on God, Miles,” answered my worthy guardian, 
still pacing the piazza, the tears running down his cheeks in streams, 
and speaking so huskily as b’arely to be intelligible; ” yes. we will 
have the prayers of the congregation next Sunday morning; and 
most devout and heartfelt prayers they will be; for her own sainted 
mother was not more deservedly loved! To be called away so 
young — to die in the first bloom of youth and loveliness, as it were 
— but, it is to go to her God! We must endeavor to think of her 
gain — to fejoice over, rather than mourn her loss.” 

” 1 grieve to perceive that you regard my sister’s case as so en- 
tirely hopeless, sir.’* 

‘‘ Hopeless! It is full of the brightest promise; and when 1 come 
to look calmly at it, my reason tells me 1 ought not to grieve. Still, 
Miles, the loss of Lucy, herself, would scarce be a more severe blow 
to me. 1 have loved her from childhood, cared for her as for one 
of my own, and feel the same love for her that 1 should- feel for a 
second daughter. Your parents were dear to me, and their children 
havd always appeared to me to belong to my own blood. Had 1 
not been your guardian, boy, and you and Grace been comparatively 
so rich, while 1 and mine were so poor, it would have been the first 
wish of my heart to have seen Rupert and Grace, you and Lucy, 
united, which would have made you all, my beloved children, alike. 

1 often thought of thrs, until 1 found it necessary to repress the 
hope, lest 1 should prove unfaithful to my trust. Now, indeed, 
Mrs. Bradtort’s bequest might have smoothed. over every difficulty; 
but it came too late! It was not to be; Rrovidence had ordered 
Otherwise.” 

” You had an ardent supporter of your scheme in one of your 
children, at least, sir.” 

” So you have given me to understand. Miles, and 1 regret that 1 
was informed of the fact so late, or 1 might have contrived to keep 
oft other young men while you w^ere at sea, or until an opportunity 
offered to enable you to secure my daughter’s affections. That 
done, neither time nor distance could have displaced you; the 
needle not being more true than Lucy, or the law^s of nature more 
certain.” 

” The knowledge of these sterling qualities, sir, only makes me 
regret my having come too late, so much the more.” 

” It was not to be; at one time 1 did think Rupert and Grace had 


58 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


a preference for ea 9 h other; but 1 must have been deceived. God 
had ordered it otherwise, and wisely no doubt; as his omniscience 
foresaw the early drooping of this lovely flower. 1 suppose tiieir 
having been educated together, so much like brother and sister, has 
been the reason there was so much indiftefence to each other’s 
merits. You have been an exception, on account of your long ab- 
sences, Miles, and you must look to those absences for the consola- 
tion and relief you will doubtless require. Alas! alas! that 1 could 
not now’’ told Grace to my heart, as a daughter and a hride, instead 
of standing over her grave! Nothing but Rupert’s diffidence of 
his own claims, during our days of poverty, could have prevented 
him from submitting himself to so much loveliness and virtue. 1 
acquit the lad of insensibility; for nothing out the sense of poverty, 
and the pride of a poor gentleman, added perhaps to the brotherly 
regard he has always felt for Grace, could have kept him from 
seeking her hand. Grace, probably eiiough, would have requited 
his affection.” 

Such is a specimen of the delusion under which we live daily. 
Here w^as my sister dying of blighted affections under my own roof; 
and the upright, conscientious father of the wretch who had pro- 
duced this withering evil, utterly unconscious of the wrong that 
had been done, still regarding his son xrith the partialitf and in- 
dulgence of a fond parent. To me it seemed incredible at the time 
that unsuspecting integrity could carry its simplicity so far; but 1 
have since lived long enough to know that mistakes like these are 
constantly occurring around us; effects being hourly attributed to 
causes with which they have no connection, and causes being fol- 
lowed down to effects, that are as imaginary as human sagacity is 
faulty. As for myself, 1 can safely say, that in scarce a circum- 
stance of my life that has brought nie the least under the cognizance 
of the public, have 1 ever been judged justly*. In various insiarfces 
have 1 been praised for acts that were either totally without any 
merit, or, at least, the particular merit imputed to them; while 1 
have been even persecuted for deeds that deserved praise. An in- 
stance or two of the latter of these cases of the false judgment of 
the world will be laid before the reader as 1 proceed. 

Mr. Hardlnge continued for some time to expatiate on the loveli- 
ness of Grace’s character, and to betray the weight of the blow' he 
had received in gaining this sudden knowledge of her danger. He 
seemed to pass all at once from a state of inconsiderate security to 
one of total hopelessness, and found the shock so much harder to 
endufe. At length he sent for Lucy, with whom he continued 
"closeted for near an hour. 1 ascertained afterward that he ques- 
tioned the dead girl closely on the subject of my sister’s malady; 
even desiring to"" know if her affections were any way connected 
wdth this extraordinary sinking of the vital powers, but not in the 
slightest degree inclining to the distrust of Rupert’s being in any 
manner implicated in the affair. Lucy, truthful and franlc as she 
was, felt the uselessness, nay, the danger, of enlightening her father, 
and managed to evade all his more delicate inquiries without in- 
volving herself in falsehoods. She well knew, if he were apprised 
of the real slate of the case, that Rupert would have been sent for, 
and every reparation it was in his power to maue would have been 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


59 


insisted on as an act of justice; a hopeless and distressing attempt 
to restore the confidence of unbounded love, and the esteem which, 
once lost, is gone forever. Perhaps the keenest of all Grace’s suffer- 
ings proceeded from the consciousness of the total want of merit in 
the man she had so effectually enshrined in her heart, tlmt he could 
only be ejected by breaking in pieces and utterly destroying the tene- 
ment that had so long contained him. With’ ordinary natures this 
change of opinion might have sufficed for the purposes of an effectual 
cure, but my poor sister was differently constituted. Slie had ever 
been different from most of her sex in intensity of feeling, and had 
come near dying, while still a child, on the occasion of the direful ca- 
tastrophe of my father’s loss; and the decease of even our mother, 
though long expected, had come near to extinguish the flame of life in 
the daughter. As 1 have already said more than once, a being so sen- 
sitive and so pure, ever seemed better fitted for the regions ot bliss, 
than for the collisions and sorrows of the world. Now we were at 
Clawbonny again, 1 scarce knew how to employ myself. Grace 1 
could not see; Lucy, who took the entire management of the in- 
valid, requiring for her rest and quiet. In this she did but follow 
the directions of reason, as well as those left by Post, and 1 was fain 
to yield, knowing that my sister could not possibly have a more 
judicious or a more tender nurse. 

The different persons belonging to the mill and the farm came to 
me for directions, which 1 was compelled to give with thoughts 
engrossed with the state of my sister. More than once 1 endeavored 
to arouse myself, and for a few minutes seemed to enter, if 1 did not 
truly enter, with interest into the affairs presented to my considera- 
tion; but these little ralhes were merely so many attempts at self- 
delusion, and 1 finally referred everything to the respective persons 
instructed with the different branches ot the duty, bidding them act 
as they had been accustomed to do in my absence. 

“ Why, yes, Masser Mile,” answered the old negro who was the 
head man in the field, ” dis berry well, if he can do it. Remember 
1 always hab Massei Hardinge to talk to me about ’e crop, and sich 
t’injr, and dat a won’erful help to a poor nigger when he in a non- 
plush.*’ 

‘‘ Surely, Hiram, you are a better husbandman than Mr. Hardinge 
and myself put together, and can not w’ant the advice of either to 
tell you how to raise corn, or to get in hay!” 

” Dat berry true, sah— so true, 1 won’t deny him. But you know 
how it be. Masser Mile; a nigger do lub to talk, and it help along 
work won’erfullv, to get a good dispute, afore he begin.” 

As respects the blacks, this was strictly true. Though as respect- 
ful as slavery and habit could make them, they were so opinionated 
and dogmatical, each in his or her sphere, that nothing short of a 
downright assertion of authority could produce submission to any 
notions but their own. They loved to argue the different points 
connected with their several duties, but they did not like to be con- 
vinced. Mr. Hardinge would discuss with them, from a sense of 
dut}^ and he would invariably yield unless in cases that involved 
moral-principles. On all such points, and they were not of unfre- 
quent occurrence in a family ot so many blacks, he was inflexible 
as the laws of the Medes and Persians; but, as respected the wheat, 


60 


MILES WALLIIsGEORD. 


the potatoes, the orchards, the mill, or the sloop, he usuall}^ submitted 
to the experience ot those more familiar with the business, after 
having discussed the matters in council. This rendered him e\- 
ceeaiugly popular at Clawbonny, the persuaded usually having the 
same sort of success in the world as a good listener. As lor the 
rector himself, after so many long discussions, he began to think he 
had actually influenced the different steps he adopted; the cause of 
one of the illusions 1 have already portrayed. 

• Old Hiram did not quit me when he came for instructions, alias 
a “ dispute ” without a w’ord of inquiry touching Grace. 1- could 
see that the alarm had passed among the slaves, and it was quite 
touching to note the effect it produced on their'simple minds. It 
would have been sufficient for them to love her, that Grace was 
their young mistress; but such a mistress as she had ever been, and 
one so winning in manner and person, the}^ might be said almost 
to worship her. 

“ 1 berry sorry to hear Miss Grace be on well, sah,” said old 
Hiram, looking at me sorrowfully. “It go l\ard wid us all, it any 
t’ing liappen derdl-l alway s’pose, Masser Mile, dat Miss Grace and 
Masser Rupert come toged'er, some time; as we all expects you and 
Miss Lucy will. Dem are happy days, sah, at Clawbonny. for den 
w^e all know our new masser and new missus from de cradle. Ko, 
no— we can nebber spare Miss Grace, sah; even 1 should miss her 
in ’e field!” . ‘ ' 

The very blacks had observed the state of things which had de- 
luded my poor sister; and the slave had penetrated his master’s 
secret. 1 turned away abruptly from the negro, lest he should also 
detect the evidence of the weakness extorted by his speech from 
the eyes of manhood. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Like the lily 

That once was mistress of the field, and flom’ished, 

I’ll hang my head and perish. 

Queen Catherine. 

1 SAW little of Lucy that night. She met us at evening prayers, 
and tears w^ere in her eyes as she arose from her knees. Without 
speaking, she kissed her father good night, more affectionately than 
ever, 1 thought, and then turned to me. Her hand \\as extended 
(we had seldom met or parted for eighteen years without observing 
this little act ot kinUness), but she did not — nay, could noi speak. 1 
pressed the little hand fervently in my own and relinquished it again 
in the same eloquent silence. She w’as seen no more by us until 
, next day. 

, i'he breakfast had ever been a happy meal at Claw’bonny. My 
lather, though merely a shipmaster, was one of the better class; and 
le had imbibed many notions, in the course of his different voyages, 
hat placed him much in advance ot the ordinary habits of his day 
ind country. Then an American shipmaster is usually superior to 
hose of olher countries. This arises from some of the fieculiarities 
ff our institutions, as well as from the circumstance that the navy 
is so small. Among other improvements, my father had broken in 


MILES WALLIIsGFOKD. 


61 


upon the venerable American custom of swallowing a meal as soon 
as out of bed. The breakfast, at Clawbonny, from my earliest in- 
fancy, or as long as 1 can remember, had been eaten regularly at 
nine o’clock, a happy medium between the laziness of dissipation 
and the hurry of ill-formed habits. At that hour the whole family 
used to meet,, still fresh from a night's repose, and yet enlivened 
and gay by an hour or two of exercise in the open air, instead of 
coming to the family board half asleep, with a sort of drowsy sulki- 
ness, as if the meal were a duty, and not a pleasure. We ate as 
. leisurely as keen appetites would permit; laughed, chatted, related 
the events of the morning, conversed of our plans for the day, and 
indulged our several tastes and humors like people who had been 
up and stirring, and not like so many drowsy drones swallowing 
our food for form’s sake. The American breakfast has been cele- 
brated by several modern writers, and it deserves to be, though cer- 
tainly not to be compared to that of France. Still, it might die far 
better than it is, did our people understand the mood in which- it 
ought to be enjoyed. 

While on this subject, the reader will excuse ah .old man’s 
prolixity, if 1 say a word on the state of the science of the table in 
general, as it is put in practice in this great republic. A writer of 
this country, one Mr. Cooper, has somewhere said that the Ameri- 
cans are the grossest feeders in the civilized world, and warns his 
countrymen to remember that a national character may be formed 
in the Litchen. This remark is commented on by Captain Jlar- 
ryatt, who calls it both unjust and ill-natured. As for the dll-nat- 
ure 1 shall say nothing, unless it be to remark that 1 do not well see 
how that which is undeniably true ought to be thought so very ill- 
natured. That it is true, every American who has seen much of 
other lands must know. Captain Marryatt’s allegation that the 
tables are good in the large towns, has nothing to do with the 
merits of this question. The larger American towns are among, the 
best eating and drinking portions of the world. But what are they 
as compared to the whole country? What are the public tables, or 
the tables of the refined, as compared to the tables of the mass, even 
in these very towns? All things are to be judged of by the rules, 
and not by the exceptions. Because a small portion of the Ameri- 
can population understand what good’ cookery is, it by no means 
follows that all do. Who would think of saying that the people of 
England live on white bait and venison, because the nobility and 
gentry (the aldermen inclusive) can enjoy both, in the seasons, cul 
libitum f 1 suspect this Mr. Cooper knows quite as well what he is 
about, when writing of America, as any European. If pork fried in 
grease, and grease pervading half the other dishes, vegetables cooked 
without any art, and meats done to rags, make a good table, then is 
this Mr. Cooper wrong, and Captain Marryatt right, and vice versa. 
As yet, while nature has done so much in America, art has done 
but little. Much compared with numbers and time, certainly, but 
little as compared with what numbers and time have done elsewhere. 
(Nevertheless, 1 would make an exception in favor of America, as 
respects the table of one country, though not so much in connection 
with the coarseness of the feeding as in the poverty of the food. I 
consider the higher parts of Germany to be the portions of the 


62 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


Christian world where eating and drinking are in the most primitive 
condition; and that part of this great republic, which Mr. Alison 
would probably call the state of New England, to come next. In 
abundance and excellence of food in the native form, America is 
particularly favored; Baltimore being at the very nucleus of all that 
is exquisite in the great business of mastication. Nevertheless, the 
substitution of cooks from the interior of New England for the 
present glistening tenants of her kitchens would turn even that 
paradise of the epicure into a sort of oleaginous waste. Enough of 
cookery. 

Lucy did not appear at prayers next morning! 1 felt her absence 
as one feels the certainty of some dreadful evil. Breakfast was 
announced; still Lucy did not appear. The table was smoking and 
hissing; and Romeo Clawbonny, who acted as the every-day house- 
servarit, or footman, had several times intimated that it might be 
well to commence operations, as a cold breakfast was very cold 
comfort. 

“ Miles, my dear boy,'’ observed Mr. Hardinge, after opening the 
door to look for the absentee half a dozen times, “ we will wait no 
longer. My daughter, no doubt, intends to breakfast with Grace, 
to keep the poor dear girl company; for it is dull work to breakfast 
by one’s self. You and 1 miss Lucy sadly, at this very moment, 
though "we have each other’s company to console us.” 

We had just taken our seats, when the door slowly opened, and 
Lucy entered the room. 

“ Good morning, dearest father,” said the sweet girl, passing an 
tirm round Mr. Hardinge’s neck, with more than her usual tender- 
ness of manner, and imprinting a long kiss on his bald head. ‘‘ Good 
morning. Miles,” stretching toward me a hand, but averting her 
face, as if airaid it might reveal too much when exposed fully to 
my anxious and inquiring gaze. ” Grace passed a pretty quiet 
night, and is, 1 think, a little less disturbed this morning than she 
was yesterday.” 

Neither of us answered or questioned the dear nurse. What a 
breakfast was that, compared to so many hundreds in which 1 had 
shared at that very table, and in that same room! Three of the 
accustomed faces were there, it is true; all the appliances wmre 
familiar, some dating as far back as the time of the first Miles; 
R;<)meo,\now a gray-headed and wrinkled negro, was in his usual 
place; but Chloe, who was accustomed to pass often between her 
young mistress and a certain closet, at that meal, wddch never 
seemed to have all we wanted arranged on the table at first, wms 
absent, as w’as that precious ” young mistress ” herself. ” Gracious 
Providence!” I mentally ejaculated, ” is it thy will it should ever be 
thus? Am 1 never again to see those dove-like eyes lurned on me in 
sisterly affection from the head of my table, 'as I have so often seen, 
them on hundreds and hundreds of occasions?” Lucy’s spirits had 
sometimes caused her to laugh merrily; and her musical voice once 
used to mingle with Rupert’s and my own more manly and deeper 
notes, in something like audible mirth; not that Lucy was ever 
boisterous or loud; but, in early girlhood, she had been gay and 
•animated, to a degree that often blended with the noisier clamor of 
us boys. With Grace, this had never happened. She seldom spoke, 


63 


MILES AVALLIXGFORD. 

except in moments when the rest were still; and her laugi^ was 
rarely audible, though so often heartfelt and joyous, it may seem 
strauiie to those Who have never suffered the pang of feeling that 
such a customary circle was broken up forever; but, that morning, 
the first in which 1 keenly felt that my*sister was lost to me, 1 
actually missed her graceful, eloquent silence! 

“ Miles,” said Imcy, as she rose from the table, tears trembling 
on her eyelids as she spoke, half an hour hence come to the 
family room. Grace wishes to see you there this morning:, and 1 
have not been able to deny her request. She is weak, but thinks the 
visit will do her good. Do not fail to be punctual, us waiting might 
distress her. Good morning, dearest papa; when 1 want you, 1 will 
send for you.” 

Lucy left us with these ominous notices, and 1 felt the necessity 
of going on the lawn for air. 1 walked my half hour out, and re- 
turned to the house in lime to be punctual to the appointment. 
Chloe met me at the door, and led the way in silence toward the 
family room. Her hand was no sooner laid on the latch than Lucy 
appeared, beckoning me to enter. 1 found Grace reclining on that 
small settee, or causeuse, on which we had held our first interview, 
looking pallid and uneasy, but still looking lovely and as ethereal as 
ever. She held out a hand afiectionately, and then 1 saw her glance 
toward Lucy, as if asking to be left with me alone. As for myself, 
1 could not speak. Taking my old place, 1 drew my sister ’s Head 
on my bosom, and sat holding it in silence for irany painful min- 
utes. In that position 1 could conceal the tears which forced them- 
selves from my eyes, it exceeding all my powers to repress these evi- 
dences of human grief. As I took my place, the figure of Lucy 
disappeared, and tlie door closed. 

1 never knew how long a time Grace and 1 continued in that teri- 
der attitude. 1 was not in a state of mind to note such a fact, and 
have since striven hard to forget most that occurred in that solemn 
interview. After a lapse of so many years, however, 1 find memory 
painfully accurate on all the leading circumstances, though it was 
impossible to recall a point of which 1 took no heed at the moment. 
Such things only as made an impression is it in 'my power to relate. 

When Grace gently, and J might add faintly, raised herself from 
my bosom, she turned on me eyes that were filled with a kind anx- 
iety on my account, rather than her own, 

•“ Brother,” she said, earnestly, “the will of God must be sub- 
mitted to; “ 1 am very, very ill — broken in pieces — I grow weaker 
every hour. It is not right to conceal such a truth from ourselves, 
or from each other.” 

I made no reply, although she evidently paused to give me an 
opportunit}'' to speak. I could not have uttered a syllable to have 
saved m}’: life. The pause was impressive, rathei* than long. . 

“ 1 have sent for you, dearest Miles,” my sister continued, “ not 
that 1 think it probable 1 shall be called away soon or suddenly. 
God will spare me for a little while, 1 humbly trust, in order to- 
temper the blow to those 1 love; but he is about to call me to him, 
and we must all be prepared for it; you, and dear, dear Lucy and 
my beloved guardian, as well as myself. I have not sent for you. 
even to tell you this; for Lucy gives me reason to believe you ex- 


MILES M'ALLlXGFOliD. ' 


u 

pect the separation; but I wish to spe^ik to you on a subject that is 
very near my heart, while I have strength and fortitude to speak on 
it at all. Promise me, dearest, to be calm, and to listen patientl}’. ” 

“ Yotir slightest wish. will be law to me, beloved, most precious 
sister; 1 shall listen as if we were in our days of childish confidence 
and happiness — though 1 fear those days are never to return!” 

“ Feel not thus. Miles, my noble-hearted, manly brother. Heaven 
will not desert you, unless you desert your God; it does not desert 
me, but aneels beckon me to its bliss! Were it not for you and 
Lucy, and my dear, dear guardian, the hour of my departure would 
be a moment of pure felicity. But we will not talk of this now. 
You must prepare yourself, Miles, to hear me patiently, and to be 
indulgent to my last wishes, even should they seem unreasoiiable to 
your mind at first.” 

“ 1 have told you, Grace, that a request of yours will be a law to 
me; have no hesitation, therefore, iu letting me know any, or all 
your wishes. ”■ 

” Let us, then, speaK of wmiidly things; for the last time, 1 trust, 
my brother. Sincerely do 1 hope that this will be the last occasion 
on wiiich 1 shall ever be called to allude to them. This duty dis- 
charged, all that will remain to me on earth will be the love 1 bear 
my friends. This Heaven itself will excuse, as 1 shall strive not to 
let it lessen that 1 bear my God.” . 

Grace paused, and 1 Sfvt wondering what was to follow, though 
touched to the heart by her beautiful resignation to a fate that "to 
most so young wmuld seem hard to be borne. 

“Miles, my brother,” she continued, looking at me anxiously, 
“ w^e. have nut spoken much of your success iu your last voyage, 
though I have understood that you have materially increased your 
.means. ’’ 

“ It has quite equaled my expectations; and, rich iii my ship and 
ready money, 1 am content, to say nothing of Claw’bonny. Do what 
you.wull with your own, therefore, my sister; not a wish of mine 
shall ever grudge a dollar; 1 would raBier not be enriched by your 
loss. Make your bequests freely, and 1 shall look on each and all 
of them as so many memorials of your affectionate heart and many 
viitues.” 

Grace's cheeks flushed, and 1 could see that she was extremely 
gratified, though still tremblingly anxious. 

“You doubtless remember Bial by our father’s will, Miles, mv 
property becomes yours, if 1 die without children before 1 reach the 
age of twenty-one; while yours would have been mine under the 
same circumstances. Ys 1 am barely twenty, it is out of my powder 
to make a legal will.” 

“It is in 'your power to make one that shall be equally binding, 
Grace. 1 will go this instant for a pen,. ink, and paper; and, as you 
dictate, will 1 write a will that shall be even more binding than one 
that might come within the rules of the law.” 

“ Nay, brother, that is unnecessary: all I wish I have already 
said in a letter addressed to yourself; and which, should you now 
approve of it, will be found among my papers as a memorandum. 
But there should be no misapprehension between you and me, dear- 
est Miles. 1 Qo not wish you even fully to consent to my wishes 


MILES WALLIJIGFORD. 65 

■now; take time to consider, and let your judgment have as much 
influence on your decision as your own excellent heart.” 

“ 1 am as ready to decide at this moment as 1 shall be a year 
hence. It is enough for me that you wish the thing done, to have 
it done, sister.” 

” Bless you, bless you, brother,” said Grace, affectionately press- 
ing my hand to her heart; ” not so much that you consent to do as 
1 wish, as for the spirit and manner in which you comply. Still, 
as 1 ask no trifle, it is proper that I release you from all pledges here 
given, and allow you time for reflection. Then, it is also proper 
you should know the full extent of what you promise.” 

It is enough for me that it will be in my power to perform what 
you desire; further than that 1 make no stipulation.” 

1 could see that Grace was profoundly struck with this proof of 
my attachment, but her own sense of right was too just and active 
to suffer the matter to rest there. 

“ 1 must explain further,” she added. “ Mr. Hardinge has been 
a most faithful steward, and by means of economy during my long 
minority, the little cost that has attended my manner of living, and 
some fortunate investments that have been made of interest-money, 
1 find myself a good deal richer than I had supposed. In relin- 
quishing my property, Miles, you will relinquish rather more than 
two-and- twenty thousand dollars, or quite twelve hundred a year. 
There ought to be no misapprehensions on this subject between us, 
least of all at such a moment. ” 

‘‘ 1 wish it were more, my sister, since it gives you pleasure to be- 
stow it. If it will render you any happier to perfect any of your 
plans, take ten thousand of my own, and add to the sum which is 
now yours. 1 would increase, rather than lessen your means of do- 
ing good.” 

” Miles, Miles,” said Grace, dreadfully agitated, ” talk not thus 
— it almost shakes my purpose! But no, listen now to my wishes, 
for 1 feel this will be the last time 1 shall ever dare to speak on the 
subject. In the first place, 1 wish you to purchase some appropri- 
ate ornament, of the value of five hundred dollars, and present it to 
Lucy as a memorial of her friend. Give also orfe thousand dollars 
in money to Mr. Hardinge, to be distributed in charity. A letter to 
him on the subject, and one to Lucy, will also be found among my 
papers. There will still rernain enough to make suitable presents 
to the slaves, and leave the sum of twenty thousand dollars entire 
and untouched.” 

” And what shall I do with these twenty thousand dollars, sister?” 
1 asked, Gtace hesitating to proceed. 

“ That sum, dearest Miles, 1 wish to go to Rupert. You know 
that he is totally without fortune, Tvith the habits of a man of es- 
tate. The little 1 can leave him will not make him rich, but it may 
be the means of making him happy and respectable. 1 trust Lucy 
will add to it when she comes of age, and the future will be happier 
for them all than the past.” 

My sister spoke quick, and was compelled to pause for breath. 
As for myself, the reader can better imagine than 1 can' describe my 
sensations, wiiich were of a character almost to overwhelm me. 
The circumstance that 1 felt precluded from making any serious ob- 
3 


5IILES WALLING JFOED. 


66 

lections, added to-tlie intensity of my sufitering, left me in a state of 
grief, regret, indignation, wonder, pity and tenderness, that it is 
wholly out of my power to delineate. Here, then, was the tender- 
ness of the woman enduring to the last, caring for the heartless 
wretch who had destroyed the very springs of life in her physical 
being, while it crushed the moral like a worm beneath the toot, yet 
bequeathing with her dying breath, as it nright be, all the worldly 
goods in her possession, to administer to his selfishness and vanity! 

“ I know you must think this strange, brother,” resumed Grace, 
who doubtless saw how utterly unanle 1 was to reply; “ but 1 shall 
not die at peace with myself without it. Unless he possesses some- 
marked assurance of my forgiveness, my death will render Rupert 
miserable; with such a marked assurance, he will be confident of 
possessing my pardon and my prayers. Then, both he and Emily 
are penniless, 1 fear, and their lives may be rendered blanks for the 
want of the little money it is in my power to bestow. At the proper 
time, Lucy, I feel confident, will add her part, and you, who remain 
behind me, can all look on my grave, and bless its humble tenant!” 

“Angel!” 1 murmured— “ this is too much! Can you suppose 
Rupert will accept this money?” 

Ill as 1 thought of Rupert Hardinge, 1 could not bring my mind 
to believe he was so base as to receive money coming from such a 
source, and with such a motive. Grace, however, viewed the mat- 
ter difterently; not that she attached anything discreditable to Ru- 
pert’s compliance, for her own womanly tenderness, long and deep- 
ly rooted attachment, made it ai)pear to her eyes more as an act of 
compliance with her own last behest, than as the act of degrading 
meanness it would unquestionably appear to be, to all the rest of 
the world. 

“ How can he refuse this to me, coming to him, as the request 
will, from my grave?” rejoined the lovely enthusiast. “He will 
ow^e it to me; he will owe it to our former affection— for he once 
loved me. Miles; nay, he loved me even more than you ever did, or 
could, dearest — much as 1 know you love me.” 

“ By Heavens, Grace,” 1 exclaimed, unable to control myself any 
longer, “that is a fearful mistake. Riq:>ert Hardinge is incapable 
of loving anything but himself; he has never been worihy of oc- 
cupying the most! idle moment of a heart true and faithful as yours, ” 

These words escaped me unaer an impulse 1 found entirely im- 
possible to control. Scarcely were they uttered, ere 1 deeply- re- 
gretted the indiscretion. Grace looked at me imploringly, turned 
as pale as death, and trembled all over, as if on the verge of disso- 
lution, 1 took her in my arms, 1 implored her pardon,"^! promised 
to command myself in future, and 1 repeated the most solemn as- 
surances of complying with her wishes to the very letter. 1 am not 
certain 1 could have found it in my heart not to have lecalled ni}'’ 
promise, but for the advantage my sister obtained over me, by 
means of this act of weakness. There was something so exceeding- 
ly revolting to me in the whole affair, that even Grace’s holy weak- 
ness failed to sanctify the act in my eyes; at least so far as* Rupert 
was concerned, 1 owe it to myself to add that not a selfish thought 
mingled with my reluctance, which proceeded purely from the dis- 
taste 1 felt to seeing Lucy’s brother, and a man for whom 1 had 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


67 

once entertained a boyish regard, making himself so thoroughly an 
obiect of contempt. As 1 entertained serious doubts of even Ru- 
pert’s sinking so low, 1 felt the necessity of speaking to my sister on 
the subject of such a contingency. 

One might hesitate about accepting your money, after all, dear- 
est sister,” 1 said; ” and it is proper you give me directions what 1 
am to do, in the event of Rupert’s declining the gift.” 

“1 think tliat is little probable, Miles,” answered Grace, who 
lived and died under a species of hallucination on the subject of 
her early lover’s real character— ” Rupert may not have been able 
to^ command' his affections, but he can not cease to feel a sincere 
friendship for me; to remember our ancient confidence and inti- 
macy, He will receive the bequest, as 3mu would take one from dear 
Luejq” added my sister, a painful-looking smile illuminating that 
angelic expression of countenance to which I have so often alluded; 

or, as that of a sister. You would not refuse such a thing to 
Lucy’s dying request, and why should Rupert to mine?” 

Poor Grace 1 Little did she see the immense difference there was in 
my relation to Lucy and that which Rupert bore to her. 1 could 
not explain this difference, however, but merely assented to her 
wishes, renewing, for the fourth or fifth time, my pledges of per- 
forming with fidelity all she asked at my hands. Grace then put 
into my hands an unsealed letter addressed to Rupert, which she 
desired me to read when alone, and which I was to have delivered 
with the legacy or donation of money. 

Let me rest once more on your bosom, Miles,” said Grace, re- 
clining her head in my arms, quite exhausted under the reaction of 
the excitement she had felt while urging her request. “ I feel hap- 
pier, at this moment, than 1 have beeiT for a long time; yet, my 
increasing weakness admonishes me it can not last long. Miles, dar- 
ling, you must remember all our sainted mother taught you in child- 
hood, and you will not mourn over my loss. Could 1 leave you 
united to one who understood and appreciated your worth, I should 
die contented. But you will be left alone, poor Miles; for a time, 
at least, 3'ou will mourn for me,” 

‘‘Forever — long as life lasts, beloved Grace,” 1 murmured, al- 
most In her ear. 

Exhaustion kept my sister quiet for a quarter of an hour, though 
1 felt an occasional pressure of her hands, both of which held one of 
mine; and I could hear words asking blessings and consolation for- 
me, whispered, from time to time, in heartfelt petitions to Heaven. 
As she gained strength by repose, my sister felt the desire to con- 
tinue the discourse revive, 1 begged her not to incur the risk of 
futher fatigue, but she answered, smiling affectionately in my face. 

” Rest I There will be no permanent rest for me, until laid b3^ the 
side of my parents. Miles, doyouT thoughts ever recur to that pict- 
ure of the future that is so precious to the believer, and which leads 
us to hope, it not absolutely to confide in it as a matter of faith, that 
we may recognize each other in the next state of being, and that in 
a communion still sweeter than any of this life, since it will be a 
communion free from all sin and governed by holiness?” 

“We sailors give little heed to these matters, Grace; but 1 feel 


68 MILES WALLINGEOKD, 

that, in future, the idea you have just mentioned will be full of 
consolation to me.” 

“ Remember, my best-beloved brother, it is only the blessed that 
can enjoy such a recognition— to the accursed it must add an ad- 
ditional weight to the burden of their woe.” 

‘‘ Felix trembled!” The thought that even this chance of again 
meeting my sister., and of communicating with her in the form in 
which 1 had even seen and loved her might be lost, came in aid of 
other good resolutions that the state of the tamil.y had quickened in 
my heart. 1 thought, however, it might be well not to let Grace 
lead the conversation to such .subjects, after all that had just passed, 
repose becoming necessary to her again. 1 therefore proposed call- 
ing Lucy, in order that she might be carried to her own room. I 
say carried; for, by a remark that fell from Chloe, 1 had ascertained 
that this was the mode in which she had been brought to the place 
of meeting. Grace acquiesced; but while w^e waited for Chloe to 
answer the bell, she continued to converse. 

” 1 have not exacted of you. Miles,” my sister continued, “ any 
promise to keep my bequest a secret from the world; your own 
sense of delicacy would do that; but 1 will make it a condition that 
you do not speak of it to either Mr. Hardinge or Lucy. They may 
possibl}' raise weak objections, i)articularly tlie last, who has, and 
ever has had, some exaggerated opinions about receiving money^ 
Even in her days of poverty, and poor as she was, you know, not- 
withstanding our true love for each other, and close intimacy, 1 
never could induce Lucy to receive a cent. Nay, so scrupulous 
has she been, that the little presents which friends constantly give 
and receive, she would decline, because she had not the means of 
offering them in return.” 

1 remembered the gold the dear girl had forced on me, when 1 first 
went to sea, and could have knelt at her feet and called her 
” blessed.” 

‘‘ And this did not make, you love and respect Lucy the less, my 
sisteu? But do not answer; so much conversing must distress you. ” 

” Not at all. Miles. I speak without suftering, nor does the little 
talking 1 do enfeeble me in the least. When 1 appear exhausted, it 
is from the feelings which accompany our discourse. I talk much^ 
very much, with dear Lucy, who hears me with more patience than 
yourself, brother!” 

1 knew that this remark applied to Grace’s wish to dwell on the- 
unknown future, and did not receive it as a reproach in any other 
sense. As she seemed calm, however, 1 was willing to indulge her 
wish to converse with me, so long as she dwelt on subjects that did 
not agitate her. Speaking of her hopes of heaven had a contrary 
efiect, and 1 made no further opposition. 

“ Lucy’s hesitation to be under the obligations you mention did 
not lessen her in your esteem?” I repeated. 

” ‘You^I^dow it could not. Miles. Lucy is a dear good girl; and 
the more intimately one knows her, the rnore certain is one-tu esteem 
her. 1 have every reason to bless and pray for Lucy; still, 1 desire 
you not tomakeeitherheror her father acq> minted with my request.”’ 

“Rupert wmuld hardly conceal such a thing from so near and 
deal friends.” 


3IILES WALLIJxGFORD. 


69 

“ Let Rupert judge of the propriety of that for himself Kiss 
me, brother; do not ask to see me again to day, for 1 have much to 
arrange with Lucy; to-morrow 1 shall expect a long. visit. God 
bless you, my own dear —my only brother, and ever have you in his 
holy keeping!” 

I left the room as Chloe entered; and, in threading the long pas- 
sage that led to the apartment which was appropriated to my own 
particular purposes, as an office, cabinet, or study, I met Lucy near 
the door of the latter. I could see she had been "weeping, and she 
followed me into the room. 

‘‘ What do you think of her, Miles?” the dear girl asked, uttering 
the words in a tone so low and plaintive as to say all that she an- 
ticipated herself. 

” VVe shall lose her, Lucy; yes, 'tis God’s pleasure to call her to 
himself.” 

Had worlds depended on the effort, 1 could not have got out an- 
other syllable. The feelings which had been so long pent up in 
Grace’s presence broke out, and 1 am not ashamed to say that 1 wept 
and sobbed like an infant. 

How kind, how woman-like, how affectionate did Lucy show her- 
self at that bitter moment. She said but little, though 1 think 1 
overheard her murmuring “poor Miles !” — " dear Miles!” — 
“what a blow it must be to a brother!” — “God will temper this 
loss to him!” and other similar expressions. She took one of my 
hands and pressed it warmly between both her own; held it there 
for two or three minutes; hovered round me, as the mother' keeps 
near its slumbering infant when illness renders rest necessary; and 
seemed more like a spirit sympathizing with my grief than a mere 
observer of its violence. In reflecting on what then passed months 
afterward, it appeared to me that Lucy had entirely forgotten her- 
self, her own causes of sorrow, her own feelings as respected Grace^ 
in the single wish to solace me. But this was ever her character; 
this was her very nature; to live out of herself, as it might be, and 
in the existences of those whom she esteemed or loved. During this 
scene, Lucy lost most of the restraints which womanhood and more 
matured habits had placed on her deportment; and she behaved 
toward me with the innocent familiarity that marked our inter 
course down to the time 1 sailed in the “ Crisis.” It is true, 1 was 
too dreadfully agitated at first to take heed of all that passed; but, 

1 well remember, that, before leaving me in obedience to a sum- 
mons from Grace, she laid her head affectionately on mine, and 
kissed the curls with which nature had so profusely covered the 
last. 1 thought, at the time, notwithstanding that the salute would 
have been on the forehead, or cheek, three years before, or previ- 
ously to her acquaintance "with Drewett. 

1 was a long time in regaining entire self-command; but, wffien 1 
did, I opened my sister’s letter to Rupert, agreeably to her request, 
and perused it thrice without a pause, even to reflect. It was con- 
ceived in these words: — 

“ My dearest Rupert, — God, in his infinite and inscrutable 
wisdom, when you read this letter, will have seen fit to call me to 
himself. Let not this seeming loss, in any manner, afflict you, my 


MILES WALLIXGFOKD, 


70 

friend; for 1 feel the humble assurance that 1 shall reap the full ben- 
efit of the Saviour’s great sacrifice. 1 could not have been happy 
in this life, Rupert; and it is a mercy that 1 am taken, thus early, 
to a better. It grieves me to part from your excellent father, from 
our precious, and rightfully beloved Lucy, and from dear, dear 
ililes. This is the last tribute 1 pay to nature, and 1 hope it will 
be pardoned for its character. There is a strong hope within me 
that my death will be sanctified to the benefit of my friends. With 
this view, and this view only, beloved Rupert, I wish you to remem- 
ber it. In all other respects let it be forgotten. You have found 
it impossible to command your aftections, and worlds would not 
have tempted me to become your wife without possessing all your 
heart. 1 pray dail}', almost hourly ” — tears had evidently blotted 
this portion of the letter — “ for you and Emily. Live together, and 
make each other happy. She' is a sweet girl; has enjoyed advan- 
tages that Clawbonny could not bestow, and 'v^hich will contribute 
to your gratification. In order that you may sometimes think of 
me ’’—poor Grace was not aware of this contradiction in her re- 
quests—-'* Miles will send you a legacy that I leave you. Accept 
this as a little fortune with Emily. 1 wish sincerely it were much 
larger; but you will not overlook the intention, and forget the in- 
sufficiency of the sum. Small as It is, I trust it will enable you to 
marry at once, andYiucy’s heart may be confided in for the rest. 

“ i\arewell, Rupert— I do not say, farewell, Emily; for 1 think 
this letter, as well as its object, had better remain a secret between 
you and me and my brother— but 1 wish your future wife all 
earthly happiness, arid-an end as full of hope, as that which attends 
the death-bed of your affectionate ' Grace Wallingfoed.” 

Oh! woman, woman, what are je not, when duly protected and 
left to the almost divine impulses of your generous natures! AY hat 
may ye not become, when rendered mercenary and envious by loo 
^close a contact with those worldly interests which are never admitted 
'to an ascendency without destroying all your moral beauty! 


CHAPTER YII. 

And the beautiful, whose record 
Is the verse that can not die, 

They too are gone, with their glorious bloom, 

Fi-om the love of human eye. 

Mrs. Hemans. 

I CAN not dwell minutely on the events of the week that succeeded. 
Grace sunk daily^ hourly; and the medical advice that was obtained, 
jnore as a duty than with any hope of its benefiting the patient, 
failed of assisting her. Mr. Hardinge saw the invalid often, and 
T was admitted (o her room each day, where she would lie re- 
clining on my bosom for hours at a time, seemingly fond of this 
Innocent indulgence of her affections, on the eve of her final depart- 
ure. As it was out of the question that my sister should again visit 
ihe family room, the causetise was brought into her chamber, where 
It was made to perform the office to which it had been several times 


MILES WALLINGFOED. 


71 


devoted in its proper apartment since my return from sea. Thai 
venerable chair still exists, and I often pass thoughtful hours in it 
in my old age, musing on the past, and recalling the different scenes, 
and conversations of which it could tell, did it possess consciousness- 
and the faculty of speech. 

Mr. H^rdinge officiated in his own church, agreeably to his inten- 
tion, on the succeeding Sunday. Lucy remained with her friend, 
and I make no doubt their spirits devoutly communed with ours the 
while, for 1 mastered sufficient fortitude to be present at St. 
Michael’s. 1 could observe an earnest sympathy in every member 
of tlie little cougreaation, and tears fell from nearly every eye when 
the prayer for the^sick was read. Mr. Hardinge remained at the 
Rectory for the further duties of the day, but I rode home immedi- 
ately after morning service, too uneasy to remain absent from the 
house longer than was necessary, at such a moment. As my horse 
trotted slowly homeward, he overtook Iteb, who was walking 
toward Clawbonny with an air so different from his customary 
manner, I could not help remarking it. Neb was a muscular, act- 
ive black, and usually walked as if his legs were all springs; but he 
moved along now so heavily, that 1 could not but see some weight 
upon the spirits had produced this influence on the body. The 
change was, uatui'ally enough, attributed to the state of affairs with 
Chloe; and I felt disposed to say a word to my faithful slave, who 
had been unavoidably overlooked in the pressure of sorrow that had 
weighed me down for the last ten days. I spoke to the poor fellow 
as cheerfully as I could, as I came up, and endeavored to touch on 
such subjects as 1 thought might ipterest without troubling him. 

“ This is a famous windfall that has crossed Mr. Marble’s track. 
Neb,” 1 said, pulling up in order to go a short distance at an even 
pace with my brother tar. ” As nice an old woman for a mother, 
as pretty a little girl for a niece, and as snug a haven to moor in at 
the end of the voyage, as any old worn-out sea-dog could or ought 
to wish.’* 

” Yes, sir, Masser Mile,” Neb answered, as 1 fancied, in the man- 
ner of one who was thinking of something different from what he. 
said; ” yes, sir, Mr, Marble a reg’lar sea-dog.” 

“ And as such not the less entitled to have a good old mother, a 
pretty niece, and a snug home. ’ 

“No, sir; none de wuss for bin’ sea-dog, all must allow. Neb- 
berdeless, Masser Mile, 1 sometimes wish you and I nebber hab see 
salt water.” 

“ That is almost as much as wishing we never looked down the 
Hudson from the hills and banks of Clawbonny, boy; the river itself 
being salt not far below us. You are thinking of Chloe, and fancy- 
ing that had you stayed at home your chance of getting into her 
good graces would have been better.” 

“No. Masser Mile; no, sir. Nobody at Clawbonny t’ink just 
now, of any t’ing but deaf.” 

1 started in surprise. Mr. Hardinge kept everything like exagger- 
ation and those physical excitements which it is so much the habit 
of certain sects to mistake for religious impulses, even from the 
negroes of the Clawbonny property. Neb’s speech sounded more 
like an innovation of this nature than 1 had ever heard among my 


'72 MILES WALLUn-GFORD. 

people; and 1 looked hard at the fellow for an instant before 1 an- 
swered. 

“ 1 am afraid 1 understand you, Neb,’" was my reply, after a 
meaning pause. “ It is a relief to me to find that my people retain 
all their affections for the children of their old master and mis- 
tress.” 

” We hard-hearted, indeed, sir, if we don’t. Ah! Masser Mile, 
you and 1 see many dreadful t’ing togethei, but we nebber see 
anyt’ing like dis!” 

hieb’s dark cheek was glistening with tears as he spoke, and 1 
'Spurred my horse lest my own manhood might give way there in 
the rond, and in the presence of those who were fast approaching. 
Why ISTeb had expressed sorrow for having ever gone to sea, 1 could 
not account for in any other manner than by supposing that he 
jmajrined Grace was, in some manner, a sufferer by my absence 
from home. ^ 

When 1 reached the house, not a soul was visible. The men had 
all gone to church, and were to be seen in the distance, coming 
along the road, singly, and in a melancholy manner, not a sign of 
the customary, thoughtless merriment of a negro escaping a single 
individual among them; but it w-as usual for some of the black 
Venuses to be seen sunning themselves at that season, exhibiting 
their summer finery to each other and their admirers. Not one was 
now visible. All the front of the house, the lawn, the kitchens, of 
W'hich there were no Ic^s than three, and the kitchen yards; in short, 
<every familiar haunt of the dwelling was deserted and empty. This 
boded evil; and, throwing the bridle over a post, 1 walked hurried- 
ly toward the part of the" building, or buildings, which would be a 
better word, inhabited by Grace. 

As 1 entered the passage which communicated with my sister’s 
own room, the departure from ordinary appearances was explained. 
Six 01 * seven of the negresses were kneeling near the door, and 1 
could hear the low, solemn, earnest voice of Lucy, reading some of 
the collects and other prayers suited to the sick- chamber and to the 
wants of a parting soul. Lucy’s voice was music itself, but never 
Pfifore had it sounded so plaintively sweet. The lowest intonation 
was distinctly audible, as if the dear, devout creature felt that the 
Being she addressed was not to be approached in any other manner, 
while the trembling earnestness of the tones betrayed the depth of 
feeling with which each S 3 dlable escaped from the heart. Talk of 
liturgies impairing the fervor of prayer! This may be the fact with 
those who are immersed in themselves while communing with God, 
and can not consent even to pray without placing their own 
thoughts and language, however ill-digested and crude, uppermost 
in the business of the moment. Do not such persons know that, 
as respects united worship, their own prayers are, to all intents and 
purposes, a formulary to their listeners, with the disadvantage of 
being received without prepai’ation or direction to the mind?— nay, 
too often substituting a critical and prurient cuiio^iity for humble 
and intelligent prayer? In these later times, when Christianity is 
leassuming the character of the quarrels of sects, and, as an old iiian • 
who has lived, and hopes to die, in communion with the Anglo- 
American church, 1 do not wish to exculpate my own particular 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


7‘S 

branch of the Catholic body from blame; but, in these later times, 
when Christianity is returning to its truculency, forgetful of the 
chiefest of virtues, charity, I have often recalled the scene of that 
solemn noontide, and asked myself the question, “ If any man 
could have heard Lucy, as 1 did on that occasion, concluding with 
the petition which Christ himself gave to his disciples as a compre- 
hensive rule, it not absolutely as a formulary, and imagine the 
heart could not fully accompany words that had been previously- 
prescribed?” 

2^0 sooner had Lucy’s solemn tones ceased than I passed, through 
the crowd of weeping and slill kneeling blacks, and entered my 
sister’s room. Grace w'as reclining in an easy-chair; her eyes closed, 
her hands clasped together, but lying on her knees, and her whole 
attitude and air proclaiming a momentary, but total abstraction of 
the spirit. 1 do not think she heard my footstep at all, and I stood 
at her side an instant, uncertain whether to let her know of mj^ presr 
ence or not. At this instant 1 caught the eye of Lucy, who seemed 
intent on the wish to speak to me. Grace had three or four small 
rooms that communicated with each other in her part of the dwelling; 
and into one of these, which served as a sort of boudoir, though the 
name was then unknown in America, 1 followed the dear girl, 
whose speaking, but sad look had bidden me to do so. 

‘‘ Is my father near at hand?” Lucy asked with an interest 1 did 
not understand, since she must have known he intended to remain 
at his own residence, in readiness for the afternoon service. 

“ He is not. You forget he has to attend to evening prayers.” 

“ 1 have sent for him, Miles,” taking one of my hands in both 
her own with the tenderness a mother would manifest to a very 
dear child; “ dear Miles, you must summon all your fortitude.” 

“Is my sister worse?” 1 demanded, huskily, for, prepared as 1 
was for the result, 1 was not expecting it by any means so soon, 

“1 can not call it worse. Miles, to be about to be called away to- 
God in such a frame of mind. But it is proper 1 should tell you 
all. Rather less than an hour since. Grace tolil me that the houf 
was at hand. She has the knowledge of her approaching end, though 
she would not let me send for you. She said you would have ample 
time to witness it all. For my father, however, 1 have sent, and he 
must soon be here. ” 

“ Almighty Providence! Lucy, do you really think w^e shall lose. 
Grace so soon?” 

“ As it is the will of God to take her from us. Miles, 1 can scarce 
repine that her end should be so easy, and, in all respects, so tran- 
quil.” 

So long as memory is granted to me, will the picture that Lucy 
presented at that moment remain vividly impressed on my mind 
She loved Grace as a most dear sister; loved her as an adectionate, 
generous-minded, devoted woman alone can love; and yet so keenly 
was she alive to the nature of the communication it w-as her duty to 
make, that concern tor me alone reigned in her saddened and anxious 
eye. Her mind had schooled itself to bear its own grief, and ineeK, 
believing, and disposed to foresee all that her profound faith taught 
her to hope, I do believe she considered my .sister a subject of envy 
rather than of regret, though her solicitude on my account was so 


74 ^ MILES WALLIKGFORD. 

absorbing. This generous self-denial touched my feelings in more 
ways than one, enabling me to command myself to a degree that 
might otherwise have been out of my power, during the few suc- 
ceeding hours. I felt ashamed to manifest all 1 endured in the 
presence of so much meek but pious fortitude, and thac exhibited 
by one whose heart 1 so well knew^ to be the very seat of the best 
human affections. The sad smile that momentarily illuminated 
Lucy’s countenance, as she gazed anxiously in my face when speak- 
ing, was full of submissive hope and Christian faith. 

“ God’s will be done,” 1 rather whispered than uttered aloud. 
” Heaven is a place more suited to such a spirit than the abodes of 
men.” 

Lucy pressed my hand, and appeared relieved from a load of in- 
tense anxiety by this seeming fortitude. She bade me remain where 
1 was, until she had herself apprised Grace of my return from 
church. I could see through the open door that the negresses had 
been [lirected to retire, and presently I heard the footstep of Mr. 
Hardinge approaching the room adjoining that in which 1 then was, 
and which answered tlie purpose of a sort of antechamber for those 
who came to the sick-room from the more public side of the house. 
1 met my excellent old guardian indhat apartment, and Lucy was at 
my side at the next instant. One word from the last sufficed to 
keep us in this room while she returned to that of Grace. 

” God have mercy on us, my dear boy,” the divine ejaculated, as 
much in prayer as in grief; ‘‘ and 1 say on us, as well as onyon, for 
Grace has ever been dear to me as a child of my owm. 1 knew the 
blow must come, and have prayed the Lord to prepare us all lor it, 
and to sanctify it to us, old and young, but, notwithstanding, death 
has come ‘ literally ’ when no man knoweth. 1 must have materials 
for writing. Miles, and you will choose an express for rue out of 
your people; let the man be ready to mount in half an hour, for 1 
shall not require halt that time to prepare my letter.” 

“Medical advice is useless, 1 am afraid, dear sir,” 1 answ’^ered. 
“ We have Post’s directions, and very respectable attendance from 
our own family phjsiciau. Dr. Wurtz, who gave me to understand 
several days since that he saw no other means of averting the evil 
we dread than those already adopted. Still, sir, 1 shall be easier if 
w e can persuade Dr. Bard to cross the river, and have already thought 
of sending Heb once more on that errand.” 

“Do so,” returned Mr. Hardinge, drawing toward him a little 
table on which Dr. Wurtz had written a few prescriptions, that 
were used more for form, I believe, than any expectation of the 
good they could do, and beginning to write even while talking; “ do 
so,” he added, “ and Neb can put this letter in the post-office on the 
eastern bank of the river, wffiich will be the quickest mode of caus- 
ing it to reach Rupert — ” 

“ Rupert!” 1 exclaimed, in a key that 1 instantly regretted. 

“ Certainly; we can do no less than send for Rupert, Miles. He 
has ever been like a brother to Grace, and the poor fellow wuuld feel 
the neglect keenly, did we overlook him on an occasion like this. 
You seem astonished at my thinking of summoning him to Claw- 
bonny.” 


MILES AVALLIJ^GFOLD. 75 

“ Rupert is at the Sprinojs, sir, happ}’- in the society of Miss 
Merton; would it not be belter to leave him where he 12 ?” 

“ "What would you tbink, Miles, were Lucy on her death-bed,, 
and we should tail to let you know it?” 

1 ffazed so wildly at the good old man, 1 believe, that even his 
simiDlicity could not avoid seeing the immense difference between 
the real and the supposititious case. 

“Very tiue, poor Miles, very true,” Mr. Hardinge added in an 
apologetic manner; “ 1 see the weakness of my comparison, though 
1 was i)eginning to hope you were already regarding Lucy once 
more with the eyes of a brother. But Rupert must not be forgotten 
either, and here is my letter already written.” 

“ It will be too late, sir,” I got out, hoarsely; “ my sister can not 
survive the day.” 

1 perceived that Mr. Hardinge was not prepared tor this ; his cheek 
grew pale, and his hand trembled as he sealed the epistle. Still he 
sent it, as 1 afterward discovered. 

“ God’s will be done!” the excellent divine murmured. “ If such 
should really be his holy will, we ought not to mourn that another 
humble Christian spirit is called away to the presence of its great 
Creator! Rupert can, at least, attend to do honor to all that we can 
honor of the saint we lose.” 

There was no resisting or contending with so much simplicity and 
goodness of heart; and, had it been in my power, a summons to the 
room of Grace called all my thoughts to her. My sister’s eyes were 
now open. 1 shuddered, telt a sinking of the heart like that pro- 
duced by despair, as 1 caught their unearthly or rather their super- 
natural expression. It was not that anything which indicated death 
in its more shocking aspects met my look, but simply that 1 could 
trace the illumination of a spirit that alread}'" telt itself on the eve Of 
a new state of being, and one that must at least separate all that re- 
mained behind from au 3 ^ further communication with itself. 1 am 
not certain that 1 felt no pang at the thought that my sister could 
be entirely happy without any participation on my part in her bliss. 
We are all so selfish, that it is hard to say how far even our most 
innocent longings are free from the faint of this feature of our 
nature. 

But Grace herself could not entirely shake oft the ties of kindled 
and human love so long as her spirit continued in its earthly tene- 
ment. So far from this, every glance she cast on one or all of us 
denoted the fathomless tenderness of her nature, and was filled with 
its undying affection. She w^as weak, frightfully so, 1 fancied, for 
death appeared to hasten in order to release her as swiftly and easily 
as possible, yet did her interest in me and in Lucy sustain her suffi- 
ciently to enable her to impart much that she wished to say. lu 
obedience to a sign from her, 1 knelt at her side, and received her 
head on my bosom as near as possible in that attitude in which we 
had already passed hours since her illness. Mr. Hardinge hovered 
over us like a ministering spirit, uttering in a suppressed and yet 
distinct voice some of the sublimestof those passages from Scripture 
that are the most replete with consolation to the parting spirit. As 
tor Lucy, to me she seemed to be precisely in that spot where she 


76 


MILES AVALLIXOFORD. 


'xvas most wanted, and often did Grace’s eyes turn toward her with 
gleamings of gratitude and love. 

“ The hour is near, brother,” Grace whispered, as she lay on my 
bosom. “Remember, 1 die asking forgiveness as much for those 
who may have done me wrong, as for myself. Forget nothing that 
you Have promised me; do nothing to cause Lucy and her father 
sorrow.” 

“ 1 understand you, sister,” was my low answer, “ Depend on all 
1 have said —all you can wish.’’' 

A gentle pressure of the hand was the token of contentment with 
which this assurance was received. 

From that moment it seemed to me that Grace was less than usual 
attached to the things of the world. IMevertheless, her interest in 
those she loved, and who loved her, continued to the last. 

“ Let all the slaves that wish to see me, enter, ” Grace said, rous- 
ing herself to perform a trying but necessary dutj^ “ 1 never can 
repay them for all they have done for me; but 1 trust them to you, 
Miles, with confidence.” 

Lucy glided from the room, and in a few minutes the long train 
of dark faces was seen approaching the door. The grief of these un- 
tutored beings, like their mirth, is usually loud and vociferous; 
but Lucy, dear, considerate, energetic Lucy — energetic even in the 
midst of a sorrow that nearly crushed her to the earth— had fore- 
seen all this, and the blacks were admitted only on the con- 
dition of their preserving a command over themselves in the inter- 
view. 

Grace spoke to every one of the females, taking leave of each 
calmly and with some useful and impressive admonition, while all 
the older men were also noticed personall 5 ^ 

“ Go, and rejoice that 1 am so soon released from the cares of this 
world,” she said, when the sad ceremony was over. “ Pray for me, 
and for yourselves. My brother knows my wishes in 5 ^our behalf, 
and will see them executed. God bless you, my friends, and have 
you in his holy keepiug.” 

So great was the ascendency Lucy had obtained over these poor 
simple creatures during the short time they had been under her 
mild but consistent rule, that each and all left the room as quiet as 
children, awe-struck by the solemnity of the scene. Still, the old- 
est and most wrinkled of their cheeks were wet with tears, audit 
was only by the most extraordinary efforts that they were enabled to 
repress the customary outbreakings of sorrow. 1 had gone to a 
window to conceal my own feelings after this leave-taking, when a 
rustling in the bushes beneath it caught ray ear. Looking out, there 
lay Neb, flat on his face, his herculean frame extended at full 
length, his hands actually griping the earth under the mental agony 
he endured, and yet the faithful fellow would not even utter a groan, 
lest it miiiht reach his young mistress’s ears, and disquiet her last 
moments. 1 afterward ascertained he had taken that post in urder 
that he might learn from time to time, by means of signs from Chloe, 
how things proceeded in the chamber above. Lucy soon recalled 
me to my old post, Grace having expressed a wish to that effect. 

“ It will be but an hour, and we shall ail be together again,” 
Grace said, startling us all by the clearness and distinctness ot her 


MILES WALLIilGEORD. 


7 : 


enunciation. “ The near approach of death places us on a height 
whence we can see the entire world and its vanities at a single view, ” 
1 pressed the dying girl closer to my heart, a species o"f involun- 
tary declaration ot the difficulty 1 experienced in regarding her loss 
with the religious philosophy she was inculcating. 

“ Mourn not tor me, Miles ’’—she continued — “ yet 1 know you 
will mourn. But God will temper the blow, and in his mercy may 
cause it to profit you forever,” 

I did not, could not answer. 1 saw Grace endeavoring to get a 
look at my countenance, as if to observe the effect of the sceneT By 
my assistance she was so placed as to obtain hg.- wish. The sight, 
1 believe, aroused feelings that had begun to yield to the influence 
of the last great change; for, when my sister spoke next, it was 
with a tenderness ot accent that proved how hard it is for those 
who are deeply affectionate to lose their instincts. 

‘‘Poor Miles! 1 almost wish we could go together! You have 
been a dear, good brother tome.” (What a sweet consolation I 
afterward found in these words.) “It grieves me to leave you so 
nearly alone in the world. But you will have Mr. Hardinge, and 
our Lucy — ” 

The pause, and the look that succeeded, caused a slight tremor to 
pass over my frame. Grace’s eyes turned anxiously from me to the 
form of the*^ kneeling and weeping Lucy. 1 fancied that she was 
about to express a wish, or some regret, in connection with us two, 
that even at such a moment 1 could not have heard without betray- 
ing the concern it would give me. She did not speak, however, 
though her look was too eloquent to be mistaken. 1 ascribed the 
forbearance to the conviction that it would be too late, Lucy’s 
affections belonging to Andrew Drewett. At that instant I had a 
bitter remembrance of Neb’s words of “ 1 sometime wish, Masser 
Mile, you and 1 nebber had see salt water.” But that was not the 
moment to permit such feelings to get the mastery; and Grace her- 
self felt too clearly that her minutes were numbered, to allow her 
mind to dw^ell on the subject. 

“ An Almighty Providence will direct everything for the best, in 
this as in other things,” she murmured; though it was still some 
little time, 1 thought, before her mind reverted to her own situa- 
tion. The welfare of two as much beloved as Lucy and niyself, 
eould not be a matter of indifference to one of Grace’s disposition, 
even in the hour of death, 

Mr. Hardinge now knelt, and the next quarter ot an hour passed 
in prayer. When the divine rose from his knees, Grace, her coun- 
tenance beaming with an angelic serenity, gave him her hand, and 
in a clear distinct voice, she uttered a prayer for blessings, connect- 
ing her petitions with the gratitude due him, for his care of us or- 
phans. 1 never saw the old man so much touched before. This 
unexpected benediction, for it had that character, coming from 
youth to age, quite unmanned him. The old man sunk into a chair, 
weeping uncontrollably. This aroused Lucy, who regarded the 
gray hairs ot her father with awe, as she witnessed the strength of 
iiis emotions. But feelings of this nature could not long absorb a 
man like-^lr. Hardinge, who soon regained as much of the appear- 


78 


MILES WALLIMGEOED. 


ance ot composure as it was possible to mainlaiu by such a death- 
bed. 

“ Many may think me young to die/' Grace observed; ‘‘ but 1 am 
weary ot the world. It is my wish to submit myself to the will of 
God; but, blessed be his, holy name, that he sees fit to call me to 
him this day. Lucy, beloved one — go into the next room, and draw 
the curtain asunder; I shall then be enabled to gaze on the fields of 
dear Clawbonny once more; that will be my last look at the outer 
world.” 

This leave-taking of inanimate things, objects long knowm and 
loved, is of frequent occurrence with the dying. It is not in our 
natures to quit forever this beautiful w^orld, without casting “ one 
longing, lingering look behind.” The hand of its divine Creator 
was gloriously impressed on the rural loveliness of my native fielde 
that day, a holy tianquillity seemed to reign over the grain, the or- 
chards, the meadows, and the wooded heights. The couch of Grace 
w'as purposely placed at a point in her own chamber that com- 
manded a wide view of the farm, through the vista formed by the 
door and windows of the adjoining room. Here she had often sat,, 
during her confinement loherrooms, contemplating scenes so famil- 
iar and so much loved. 1 saw her lips quiver as she now gazed on 
them for the last time, and was convinced some unusual sentiment,, 
connected with the past, pressed on her feelings at that instant. I 
could see the same view myself, and perceived that her eyes were riv- 
eted on the little wood where Rupert and I had met the girls on our 
return from sea; a favorite place of resort, and one that, I doubted 
not, had often been the witness of the early confidences between 
Grace and her recreant lover. Death was actually hovering over 
that saintea being at the moment; but her woman’s heart was not, 
coiild not, be insensible to the impressions produced by such a 
sight. In vain the warm light from the heavens bathed the whole 
landscape in a flood of glory; in vain the meadows put forth their 
flowers, the woods their variegated, bright, American verdure, and 
the birds their innocent gayety and brilliant plumage; the fancy of 
Grace was portraying scenes that had once been connected with the 
engrossing sentiment ot her life. I felt her tremble, as she lay in 
my arms; and bending my head tow^ard her in tender concern i could 
just distinguish the murmuring of a prayer that it was easy to 
understand was a petition offered up in behalf of Rupert. This 
done, she asked, herself, to have the curtain drawn again, to shut 
out the obtrusive thought forever. 

1 have often thought, since the events ot that sad day, that Grace’s 
dissolution was hastened by this accidental recurrence of her mind 
to Rupert and his forgotten love. 1 call it love, though 1 question 
if a being so thoroughly selfish ever truly loved-any one but himself; 
perhaps not himself, indeed, in a way to entitle the feeling to so re- 
spectable an epithet. Grace certainly drooped the faster from that 
unfortunate moment. It is true we all expected her death, thought 
it would occur that day even, though surprised at the suddenness 
• with which it came at last ; but we did not expect it within an hour. 

And what an hour was that which succeeded! Both Mr. Hardinge 
and Lucy passed quite half of it on their knees, engaged in silent 
prayer; for it was thought petitions uttered aloud might disturb the 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


79 

sick. There were minutes in which the stillness of the tomb already 
rei.o-ned among us. I am not enough of a physician to say whether 
the change that now came over my sister’s mind was the conse- 
quence of any shock received in that long, intense look at the wood, 
or whether it proceeded from the sinkins: of the system, and was 
connected wiili that mysterious link which binds the immortal part 
of our being so closely to the material, until the tie is loosened for- 
ever. It is certain, however, that Grace’s thoughts wandered; and, 
while they never lost entirely thdr leaning toward f aith and a bright 
Christian hope, they became tinctured with something allied to child- 
ish simplicit}', if not absolutely to mental weakness. Nevertheless, 
there was a moral beauty about Grace, that no failing of the facul- 
ties could ever totally eradicate. 

It was fully half au hour that the breathing quiet of prayer lasted. 
In all that time my sister scarcely stirred, her own hands being 
clasped together, and her eyes occasionally lifted to heaven. At 
length, she seemed to revive a little, and to observe external objects. 
In the end, she spoke. 

“ Lucy, dearest,” she said, ” what has become of Rupert? Does 
he know 1 am dying? If so, why does he not come and see me, for 
the last time?” 

It is scarcely necessary for me to say how much Lucy and myself 
were startled at this question. The former buried her face in her 
hands without making any reply; but good Mr. Hardinge, alto- 
gether unconscious of any thing being wrong, was eager to ex- 
culpate his son. 

‘‘Rupert has been sent for, my dear child,” he said', “and, 
though he is engrossed with love and Miss Merton, he will not fail 
to hasten hither the instant he receives my letter.” 

“ Miss Merton!” repeated Grace, pressing both her hands on her 
temples — “ who is she? I do not remember anybody of that name?” 

AVe now understood that the mind of the dear patient was losing 
its powers; of course no efforts were made to give a truer direction 
to her thoughts. AVe could only listen, and weep. Presently Grace 
passed an arm around the neck of Lucy, and drew her toward her, 
with a childish earnestness. 

“Lucy, love,” she continued, “we will persuade these foolish 
boys from this notion of going to sea. What it Miles’s father, and 
Rupert’s great-grandfather icere sailors; it is no reason they should 
be sailors too!”" 

She paused, appeared to meditate, and turned toward me. Her 
head was still reclining on my bosom, and she gazed upward at my 
face; as fondly as she did in that tender meeting we held just after 
my return home, in the family room. There was sufficient strength 
to enable her to raise her pallid but not emaciated hand to my face,, 
even while she passed it over my cheeks, once more parting the 
curls on my temples, and playing with my hair with infmtile fond- 
ness. 

“Miles,” the dear angel whispered, utterance beginning to fail 
her, “ do you remember what mother told us about always speak- 
ing the truth? You are a manly boy, brother, and have too much 
pride to say any thing but the truth; 1 wish Rupert were as frank.” 

This was the first, the last, the only intimation 1 had ever heard 


80 


MILES \VALLINGFORD. 


Irom Grace, of her being conscious of any defect in Rupert’s char- 
acter. Would to God she liad seen this important deficiency earlierl 
though this is wishing a child to possess the discernment and in- 
telligence of a woman. The hand was still on my cheek, and I 
would not have had it removed at that bitter moment to have been 
well assured of Lucy’s love. 

“ See,” my sister resumed, though she now spoke merely in a 
whisper, ” how brown his cheek is, though his forehead is white. 
1 doubt if mother would know him, Lucy, Is Rupert’s cheek as 
brown as this, dear?” 

. ” Rupert has not been as much exposed of hue as Miles,” Lucy 
answered huskily, Grace’s arm still clinging to her neck. 

The well-known voice appeared to awaken a new' train of thought. 

‘‘ Lucy,” my sister-asked, ” are you as fond of Miles as we both 
used to be, when children?” 

” 1 have always Imd, and shall ever retain, a deep affection for 
Miles Wallingford,” Lucy answered steadily. 

Grace now turned toward me, releasing her hold of Lucy's neck, 
from pure inability to retain it; and she fastened her serene blue 
eyes on my countenance, whence they never deviated while she 
breathed. My tears were uncontrollable, and they seemed to per- 
plex rather than distress her. Of a sudden, we heard her voice 
aloud, speaking gently, but with 'a fervor that rendered it distinct. 

. The words she uttered were full of the undying affection of a heart 
that never turned away from me for a single instant; no, not even 
in the petulance of childhood. ‘‘Almighty E'ather,” she said, 

look down from thy mercy-seat on this dear brother— keep him 
for thyself; and^ in thy good time call him' through the Saviour’s 
love, to thy mansions of bliss.” 

These were the last words that Grace Wallingford ever spoke. 
She lived ten minutes longer; and she died on my bosom like the 
infant that breathes its last in the arms of its mother. Her lips 
moved several times; once 1 fancied 1 caught the name of ” Lucy,’* 
though 1 have reason to think she prayed for us all, Rupert in- 
cluded, dow'D to the moment she ceased to exist. 


CHAPTER Vlll. 

There have been sweet singing voices 
In your -w'alks that now are still; 

There are seats left void, in your earthly homes, 

Which none again may fill. 

Mrs, Hemans. 

1 NEVER saw the body of my sister, after I handed it, resembling 
a sleeping infant, to the arms of Lucy. There is a sort of mania in 
some, a morbid curiosity, to gaze on the features of the dead; but, 
with me, it has ever been the reverse. 1 had been taken to the 
family room to contemplate and weep over the faces of both my 
parents, but this was at an age when if became me to be passive, I 
was now at a lime of life when 1 might be permitted to judge for 
myself; and, as soon as 1 began to think at all on the subject, which 
was not for some hours, however, 1 resolved that the last look ot 


MILES IVALLINCtFORD. 


81 


love, the sweet couDtenance, sinking in death it is true, hut still 
animate and beaming with the sentiments of her pure heart, should 
he the abiding impression of my sister’s form, 1 have cherished it 
ever since, and often have I rejoiced that 1 did not permit an^'- sub- 
sequent images of a corpse to supplant it. As respects both my 
parents, the images left on my mind, for years and years, were 
painful rather than pleasing. 

Grace’s body was no sooner out of my arms, 1 had scarcely im- 
printed the last long kiss on the ivory-like but still warm forehead, 
than 1 left the house. Clawbonny had no impertinent eyes to drive 
a mourner to his closet, and 1 felt as if it were impossible to breathe 
unless 1 could obtain the freedom of the open air. As 1 crossed the 
little lawn the wails from the kitchens reached me, Tsow that the 
invalid could no longer be disturbed by their lamentations, the un- 
sopliistocated negroes gave vent to their feelings without reserve, 1 
heard their outcries long after every other sound from the house 
was lost on my ear. 

1 held my way along the road, with no other view but to escape 
from the scene 1 had just quitted, and entered the very little wood 
which might be said to have been the last object of the external 
world that had attracted my sister’s attention. Here every thing re- 
minded me of the past; of the days of childhood andAOuth; of the 
manner in which the four Clawbonny children had lived together, 
and roamed these very thickets in confidence and love. 1 sat in 
that wood an hour; a strange, unearthly hour it seemed to me! 1 
saw Grace’s angel countenance hmprinted on the leaves, Ireard her 
low, but gay laugh, as she was wont to let it be heard in the hours 
of happiness, and the tones of her gentle voice sounded in my ears 
almost as familiarly as in life. Rupert and Luey were there, too, 

1 saw them, heard them, and tried to enter into their innocent merri- 
ment, as 1 had done of old ; but fearful glimpses of the sad truth 
would interpose in time to break the charm. 

When 1 left that little wood it was to seek a larger cover, and 
fields further removed from the house. It was dark before 1 thought 
of returning; all that time was passed in a species of mystical hal- 
lucination, in which the mind was lost in scenes foreign to those 
actually present. 1 saw Grace’s sweet image everywhere; 1 heard 
her voice at every turn. How she was the infant I was permitted 
to drag in her little wagon, the earliest of all my impressions of that 
beloved sister; then, she was following me as I trundled my hoop; 
next came her little lessons in morals, and warnings against doing, 
wrong, or some grave but gentle reproof for errors actually com- 
mitted; after which 1 saw her in the pride of young womanhood, 
lovely and fitted to be loved, the sharer of my confidence, and one 
capable of entering into all my plans of life. How often that day 
did the murmuring of a brook, or the humming of a bee become 
blended in my imagination with the song, the laugh, the call, or the 
prayers of that beloved sister whose spirit had ascended to heaven, 
and who was no more to mingle in my concerns or those of life! 

At one time i had determined to pass the night abroad, and com- 
mune with the stars, each of which 1 fancied, in turn, as they 
began slowly to show themselves in the vault above, might be the 
abiding-place of the departed spirit. If 1 thought so much and so 


82 


MILES \VALLliN"GEOKD. 


intensely of Grace, 1 thonglit also of Lucy. IS or was good Mr. 
Hardinge entirely forgotten. 1 felt tor their uneasiness, and saw it 
was my duty to return. Neb and two or three others ot the blacks 
had been looking tor me in all directions, but that in vvhich 1 was; 
and 1 telt a melancholy pleasure as I occasionally saw these simple- 
minded creatures meet and converse. Their gestures, tlieir earnest- 
ness, their tears, tor 1 could see that they were often weeping, in- 
dicated alike they were speaking of their “young mistress;” how 
they spoke, 1 w^anted no other communications to understand. 

Ours had ever been a family of love. My father, manly, affec- 
tionate, and strongly attached to my mother, was admirably suited 
to sustain that dominion of the heart which the last had established 
from her earliest days at Claw^bonny. This powder ot the feeliners 
had insensibly extended itself to the slaves, who seldom failed to 
manifest how keenly alive they all were to the interests and happi- 
ness of their owners. Among the negroes, there was but one who 
was considered as fallen below his proper level, or w'ho was re- 
garded as an outcast. This was an old fellow who bore the name 
of Vulcan, and who worked as a blacksmith on the skirts of the 
farm, having been named by my grandfather with the express in- 
tention of placing him at the anvil. This fellow’s trade caused him 
to pass most of iris youth in an adjacent village, or hamlet, where 
unfortunately he had acquired habits that unsuited him to live as 
those around him w^ere accustomed to live. He became, in a meas- 
ure, alienated from us, drinking, and otherwise living a life that 
brought great scandal on his sable connections who were gathered 
more closely around the homestead. Nevertheless, a death, or a re- 
turn home, or any important event in the family, was sure to bring 
even Vulcan back to his allegiance; and, tor a month afterward, he 
would be a reformed man. On this occasion he was one ot those 
who were out in the fields and woods in quest of me, and he hap- 
pened to be the very individual by whom 1 was discovered. 

The awe-struck, solemn manner in which the reckless Vulcan 
approached, were all other proofs wanting, would have proclaimed 
the weight of the blow that had fallen on Clawboimy. The eyes 
of this fellow were always red, but it was easy to- see that even he 
had been shedding tears. He knew he was no favorite; seldom 
came near me, unless it were to excuse some ot his neglects or 
faults, and lived under a sort of ban for his constantly recurring 
misdeeds. Nevertheless, a common cause ot grief now gave him 
confidence, and Neb himself could hardly have approached me with 
a manner of more easy, but respectful familiarity. 

“Ah! Masser Mile! Masser Mile!” Vulcan exclaimed, certain 
that we felt alike on this topic, if on no other; poor young missus! 
when we .ebber get ’noder like she ?'* 

“ ]Vly sister is in heaven, Vulcan, where 1 hope all at Clawd:>onuy, 
blacks as well as whites, will endeavor to meet her by living in a 
manner that will approve the mercy of God.” 

“ You I’ink dat posserhul, Masser Mile?” demanded the old man, 
fixing his dull eyes on me, with an earnest intentness that pjioved 
he had not entiiely lost all sensibility to his moral condition. 

“ All things are possible with God, Vulcan. Keeping him and 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 8B 

Ins commandments constantly in mind, you may still' hope to see 
your young mistress, and to share in her happiness.” 

” Wonnerful!” exclaimed the old man; “ dat would he a great 
conserlation. Ah! Masser Mile, how often she c^me when a little 
lady to m}^ shop door, and ask to see ’e spark fly! Miss Grace hab 
a great taste for blacksmit’in’, and a great knowledge too. 1 do 
t'ink, dat next to some Oder t’mg, she lub to see iron red-hot, and 
’e horse shod!” 

“ You have come to look for me, Yulcan, and 1 thank you for 
this care. 1 shall return to the house presently; 3 'ou need give 
yourself no further trouble. Remember, old man, that the only 
hope that remains of either of us ever seeing Miss Grace again, is in 
living as Mr. Hardinge so often tells us all we ought to b>e.” 

“Wonnerful!” repeated old Vulcan, whose mind and feelings 
were in a happy condition to receive such a lesson. “Yes, sail, 
Masser Mile; she come to my shop to see ’e spark fly;— 1 shall miss 
her like a darter.” 

This was a specimen of the feelings that prevailed among the 
negroes, though the impression on most of the others was more 
lasting than that made on the blacksmith, whom 1 now dismissed, 
taking the path myself that led to the house. It was quite dark 
when 1 crossed the lawn. A figure was just visible in the shadows 
of the piazza, and 1 was on the point of turning in the direction of a 
side door, in order to a^^oid the meeting, when Lucy advanced eagerly 
to the edge of the steps to receive me. 

“ Oh! Aides— Miles, how happy 1 am to see ymu again!” the 
precious girl said, taking my hand with the warmth and frankness 
of a sister. “ Aly father and myself have been very uneasy about 
you; my father, indeed, has walked toward the Rectory, thinking 
you may have gone thither.” 

“ 1 have been with you, and Grace, and your fattier, my good 
Lucy, ever since we parted. 1 am more myself now, however, and 
you need feel no further concern on my account. 1 thank you from 
the bottom of my heart for that which you have alreadj' felt, and 
will give jmu no further concern.” 

The manner in which Lucy now hurst into tears betrayed the in- 
tensity of the feelings that had been pent up in her bosom, and the 
relief she found in my assurances. She did not scruple, even, about 
leaning on my shoulder, so long as the paroxysm lasted. As soon 
as able to command herself , however, she wiped her eyes, again took 
my hand with confiding affection, looked anxiously toward me as 
she said, soothingly— 

“ We have met with a great loss. Miles; one that even time can 
not repair. Neither of us can ever find another to fill the place that 
Grace has occupied. Our lives can not be lived over again; we can 
not return to childhood; feel as children; love as ctiiidren; live as 
children; and grow up together, as it might be, with one heart, with 
the same views, the same wishes, the same opinions; 1 hope it is not 
presuming on too great a resemblance to the departed angel, it 1 add, 
the same principle.” 

“ No, Lucy; the past, for us, is gone forever. Clawbonnny will 
never again be the Clawbonny it was.” 


84 


MILES WALLIXGFORD. 


There wa*s a pause, during which 1 fancied Lucy was struggling 
to repress some fresh burst of emotion. 

“ Yet, Miles,” she present!}' resumed, “ we could not ask to have 
her recalled from that bliss which we have so much reason to be- 
lieve she is even now enjoying. In a short time Grace will be to 
you and me a lovely and grateful image of goodness, and virtue, 
and affection; and we shall have a saddened, perhaps, but a deep- 
felt pleasure in remembering how much we enjoyed of her affection, 
and how closely she was united to us both in life.” 

” That will be indeed a link between us two, Lucy, that 1 trust 
may withstand all the changes and withering selfishness of the 
world!” 

“ 1 hope it may be. Miles,” Lucy answered in a low voice, and, 
as I fancied at the moment, with an embarrassment that 1 did not 
fail to attribute to the consciousness she felt of Andrew DrcwetFs 
claims on all such intimate association of feeling. ” \Ye, who have 
known each other from children, can scarcely want causes for con- 
tinuing to esteem and to regard each other with affection.” 

Lucy now appeared to think she might leave me to myself, and 
she led the way into the house. 1 did not see her again until Mr. 
Hardinge caused the whole household to be assembled at evening 
prayers. The meeting of the family that night w'as solemn and 
mournful. For myself, 1 fancied that the spi’dt of Gr^ce was hov- 
ering around us; more than once did I fancy that 1 heard her sweet 
voice mingling in the petitions, or leading the service, as was her 
practice on those occasions when our good guardian could not at- 
tend. 1 observed all the negroes looking at me with solicitude, like 
those who recognized my right to feel the blow the deepest. It was 
a touching evidence of respectful interest that each man bowed to 
me reverently, and each woman coiirtesied, as he or she left the room. 
As for Chloe, sobs nearly choked her, the poor girl having refused 
to quit the body of her mistress except for that short moment. I 
thought ljucy would have remained with her father and myself for 
a few minutes, but for the necessity of removing this poor heart- 
stricken creature, who really felt as if the deatu of her young mis- 
tress was a loss of part of her own existence. 

1 have already dwelt on the circumstances attending the death of 
Grace longer than 1 intended, and shall now cease to harass my own 
feelings, or to distress those of my readers by unnecessarily enlarg- 
ing on more of the details. The next three or four days produced 
the usual calm; and though it was literally years ere Lucy or myself 
ceased altogether to weep for her loss, we both obtained the self- 
command that was necessary for the discharge -of our ordinary 
duties. Grace, it will be remembered, died of a Sunday, about the 
usual hour for dinner. Agreeably to the custom of the country, in 
wdiich there is usually a little too much of an indecent haste in dis- 
posing of the dead, owing in some degree to climate how'ever, the 
funeral would have taken place on Wednesday, and that would have 
been delaying twenty-four hours longer than might have been 
granted in most cases; but Mr. Plardinge, w'ho gave all the direc- 
tions, had named Thursday noon as the hour for the interment. 
We had few lelatives to expect; most of those who would have been 


MILES WALLIN-GFORD. 85 

likely to attend, bad circumstances admitted of it, living in distant 
places that rendered it inconvenient, and indeed scarcely possible. 

1 passed most of the intervening time in my study, reading and 
indulging in such contemplations as naturally suggest themselves 
to the mourner. Lucy, dear giil, had written me two or three short 
notes, asking my wishes on various points; among other things, 
when 1 wished to pay a last visit to the body. My answer to this 
question brought her to my room, with some little surprise of man- 
ner; for she had been so much with Grace, living and dead, as to 
think it strange one who had loved her so well while living should 
not desire to take a final look at the beautiful remains. 1 explained 
my feelings on this head, and Lucy seemed struck with them. 

“lam not sure you will not have decided wisely. Miles,” she 
said, “ the picture being one too precious to destroy. You will be 
gratified in knowing, however, that Grace resembles an angel quite 
as much in death as she did in life; all who have seen her being 
struck with the air of peaceful tranquillity her features now present. ’ ' 

“ Bless you, bless you, Lucy, this is all-sufiicient. L did wish for 
some such assurance, and am "now content. ” 

“ Several of your family are in the house. Miles, in readiness to 
attend the funeral. A stranger has just arrived who seems to have 
some such desire, too, though his face is unknown to all at the 
place; he has asked to see you with an earnestness that my father 
scarce knows how to refuse.” 

“ Let him come here, then, Lucy. 1 can only suppose it to be 
some one of the many persons Grace has served; her short life was 
all activity in that particular.” 

Lucy’s face did not corroborate that notion; but she withdrew to 
let my decision be known. In a few minutes, a large, hard-featured, 
but not ill-looking man approaching fifty, entered my room, walked 
up to me with tears in his eyes, squeezed my hand warmly, and . 
then seated himself without ceremony. He was attired like a thriv- 
ing countryman, though his language, accent, and manner denoted 
one superior to the ordinary run of those with whom he was other- 
wise associated in externals. I had to look at him a second time ere 
1 could recognize Jack Wallingford, my father’s bachelor cousin, 
the Western land holder. 

“ 1 see by your look. Cousin Miles, that you only half remember 
me,” my visitor remarked; “ 1 deeply regret that 1 am obliged to 
renew our acquaintance dn so melancholy an occasion.” 

“ There are so few of us left, Mr. Wallingford, that this kindness 
will be doubly appreciated,” I answered. “ If 1 did not give orders 
to have you apprised of the loss we have all sustained, it is because 
your residence is so far from Clawbonny as to render it improbable 
you could have received the intelligence in time to attend the solemn 
ceremony, that remains to be performed. 1 did intend to write 
to you, when a little better fitted to perform such a duty.’' 

“ 1 thank you, cousin. The blood and name of Wallingford are 
very near and dear to me, and Clawbonny has always seemed a sort 
of liome. ” 

“ The dear creature who now lies dead under its roof, Cousin 
John, so considered you; and you may be pleased to know that she 
wished me to leave you this properly in my will the last time 1 


80 


MILES WALLIi^GFOllD. 


went to sea, as of the direct line, a Wallingford being the proper 
owner of Clawbonny. In that particular, she preferred your claims 
to her own.” 

‘‘ Ay. this agrees with all I ever heard of the angel,” answered 
John Wallingford, dashing a tear from his eyes, a circumstance 
that gave one a favorable opinion of his heart. “ Of course you re- 
fused, and left the property to herself, who had a better right to it.” 

” 1 did sir, though she threatened to transfer it to you, the mo- 
ment it became hers.” 

” A threat she would have found it difficult to execute, as 1 cer- 
tainly would have refused to receive it. We are halt savages, no- 
doubt, out west of the bridge; but our lands are beginning to tell 
in the markets, and we count already some rich men among us.” 

This was said with a self-satisfied manner that my cousin was a 
little too apt to assume when property became the subject of conver- 
sation. 1 had occasion several times that day, even, to remark that 
he attached a high value to money; though, at the same time it 
struck me that most of his notions were just and honorable. He 
quite worked his way into my favor, however, by the respect he man- 
ifested, for Clawbonny, and all Uiat belonged to it. So deep was 
this veneration, that 1 began to think of the necessity of making a 
new will, in order to bequeath him the place in the event of my 
dying without heirs, as I now imagined must sooner or later occur. 
As Lucy was not likely to be my wife, no one else, 1 fancied, ever 
should be. 1 had nearer relations than Jack Wallingford, some of 
whom were then in the house; cousins-german, by both father and 
mother; but they were not of the direct line; and 1 knew that Miles 
the First would have made this disposition of the place, could he 
have foreseen events, and had the law allowed it. Then Grace had 
wished such an arrangement, and 1 had a sad happiness in executing 
all the known wishes of my sister. 

The funeral did not occur until the day after the arrival of John 
AVallingford, who accidentally heard of the death that had occurred 
in the family, and came uninvited to attend the obsequies, as has 
been mentioned. \ passed most . of the evening in the company of 
this relative, with whom 1 became so much pleased as to request he 
would walk with me' next day as second nearest of kin. This 
arrangement, as I had reason to know in the end, gave great offense 
to several who stood one degree nearer in blood to the deceased, 
though not of her name. Thus are we constituted! we will quarrel 
over a grave error, a moment that should lay open eternity to our 
view, with all its immense consequences and accompaniments, in 
order to vindicate feelings and passions that can only interest us, as 
il might be, for a day. Fortunately 1 knew nothing of the ofl;ense 
that was taken at the time, nor did I see any of my kinsmen but 
John Wallingford that evening; his presence in my room being 
owing altogether to a certain self-possession and an d 'phinb that 
caused him to do very much as he pleased in such matters. 

1 rose on the following morning, at a late hour, and with a heavi- 
ness at the heart that was natural to the occasion. It was a lovely 
summer’s day, but all in and around Clawbonny wore the air of a 
Sunday. The procession was to form at ten o’clock, and as I cast 
my eyes from my window, 1 could see the negroes moving about 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


87 


on the la'?\ns, and in the lanes, a( tired in their best, but wearing; no 
holiday laces. It seemed to me to be a species of unnatural Sabbath, 
possessing all its solemnity, its holy stillness, its breathing calm, but 
wanting in that solacing spirit of peace which is so apt to be im- 
parted to the day ot rest fn the country, most particularly at that 
season of the year. Several of the neighbors who did not belong to 
Clawbonny were beginning to appear; and 1 felt the necessity of 
dressing in order to be in readiness for what was to follow’", 

1 had eaten alone in my little study or library from the time my 
sister died, and had seen no one since my return to the house, the 
servants excepted, besides my guardian, Lucy, and John Walling- 
ford. The last had taken a light supper with me the previous night, 
buthe was then breakfasting with the rest of the guests in the family 
eating-room, Mr. Hardinge doing the honors of the house. 

As for myself 1 found my own little table prepared with its coffee 
and light meal, as 1 had ordered before retiring, 1 had tioo cups, 
however, and a second plate had been laid in addition to my own. 
I pointed to tnis arrangement, and demanded of the old white- 
headed house-servant, who w^as in waiting, what it meant. 

“ Miss Lucy, sah; she say she mean to breakfast wid Masser Mile, 
dis mornin’, sah.” 

Even the accents of this negro were solemn and sad as he made 
this familiar explanation, like those of a man who w'as conscious of 
having reached an hour and an occasion that called tor peculiar 
awe. T bade him let Miss Lucy know that 1 w’as in the study. 

” Ah, Masser Mile,” added the old man, with tears in his eyes, as 
he left the room, ” Miss Lucy 'e only young missus now, sahl” 

In a lew minutes Lucy joined me. She was in deep black, of 
course, and that may have added to the appearance of paleness, but 
no one could be deceived in the manner in which the dear girl had 
mourned and wept since we parted. The subdued expression of 
her face gave it a peculiar sweetness, and in spite ot the absence of 
color, 1 thought, as Lucy advanced toward me, both hands ex- 
tended, and a smile of anxious inquiry on her lips, that she hiad 
never appeared more lovely. I did not hesitate about pressing those 
hands with fervor, and of kissing the warm though colorless cheek. 
All this passed as it might have done between an affectionate broth- 
er and sister, neither of us thinking, I am persuaded, of aught but 
the confidence and friendship of childhood. 

” This is kind ot you, dear Lucy,” I said, as we took our seats at 
the liltle table; ” my cousin, John Wallingford, though a good man 
in the main, is scarcely near enough or dear enough, to he admitted 
at a time like this,” 

‘‘ I have seen him,” Lucy replied, the tremor in her voice show- 
ing how hard she found it to avoid melting in tears, “ and rather 
like him. I believe he was a favor iie of Mamma Wallingford,” so 
Lucy was accustomed to call my mother, ” and that ought to be a 
high recommendation with us. Miles.” 

“lam disposed to like him, and shall endeavor to keep up more 
intercourse with him than I have hitherto done. It is as w'e begin 
to find ourselves alone in the wmrld, Lucy, that we first feel the 
i^ecessity of counting blood and kin, and ot looking around us for 
support.” 


88 


MILES WALLIXGFOKD. 


“ Alone 5 ^ou are not, Miles, and never can be while I and my dear 
father live.' We are certainly nearer to you than any that now re- 
main amon" your blood relatives! You can neither suffer nor be 
happy without our partaking in the feeiings, ” 

This was not said without an effort— that much 1 could detect; 
yet it was said firmly, and in a wav that left no doubt of its entire 
sincerity. 1 even wished there had been less of nature and more of 
hesitation in the dear girl’s manner while she was endeavoring to 
assure me of the sympatliyshe felt in my happiness or unhappiness. 
But the waywardness of a passion as tormenting, and yet as delight- 
ful as love, seldom leaves us just or reasonable. 

Lucy and 1 then talked of the approaching ceremony. Each of 
us was grave and sorrowful, but neither indulged in any outward 
signs of grief. We knew the last sad offices were to be performed, 
and had braced ourselves to the discharge of this melancholy duty. 
It was not customary with the females of purely New York families 
of the class of the Hardinges, to be present at the performance of 
the funeral rites; but Lucy told me she intended to be in the little 
church, and to share in as much of the religious offices as were per- 
formed within the building. In a population as mixed as ours has 
become, it is not easy to say what is and what is not now a national 
or state usage, on such an occasion; but 1 knew this was going 
further than was usual for one of Lucy’s habits and opinions, and 
1 expressed a little surprise at her determination. 

“ Were it any other funeral, 1 would not be present. Miles,” she 
said, the tremor of her voice sensibly increasing; ‘‘but 1 can not 
divest m 3 ^selt of the idea that the spirit of Grace will be hovering 
near; that the presence of her more than sister will be acceptable. 
Whatever the providence of God may have ordered for the dear de- 
parted, 1 know it will be grateful for myself to join in the prayers 
of the church— besides, 1 am not altogether without the womanly 
feelings of wishing to watch over the form of Grace while it remains 
above ground. And now. Miles, brother, friend, Grace's brother, 
or by whatever endearing term 1 may address you,” added Lucy, 
rising, coaling to my side of the table, and taking my hand, ‘‘ 1 have 
one thing to say that 1 alone can say, for it would never suggest 
itself as necessary to ray dear father.” 

1 looked earnestly at Lucy’s sweet countenance, and saw it was 
full of concern — 1 had almost said of alarm. 

‘‘ 1 believe 1 understand you, Lucy,” 1 answered, though a sensa- 
tion at the throat nearly choked me; ‘‘ Bupert is here?” 

“ He is. Miles; 1 implore you to remember what would be the 
wishes of her who is now a saint in heaven— what her entreaties, 
her tears would implore of you, had not God placed a barrier be- 
tween us, ” 

‘‘ 1 understand you, Lucy,” was the husky reply; “ 1 do remem- 
ber all you wish, though that recollection is unnecessary. 1 would 
rather not see him; but never can 1 forget that he is your brother!” 

” Y"ou will see as little of him as possible, Miles ^bless jmu, bless 
you, lor this forbearance!” 

1 felt Lucy’s hasty but warm kiss on my forehead as she quitted 
the room. It seemed to me a seal of a compact between us that was 
far too sacred ever to allow me to dream of violating it. 


MILES WALLINGEORD. 


89 


I pass over 1he details of the funeral procession. This last vras 
ordered as is usual in the country, the friends following the body in 
vehicles or on horseback, accordiag to circumstances. John Wal- 
lingford went with me agreeably to my own arrangement, and the 
rest took their places in the order of consanguinity and age. 1 did 
not see Rupert in the procession at all, though 1 saw little besides 
the hearse that bore the body of my only sister. When we reached 
the church-yard, the blacks of the family pressed forw'ard to bear 
the coffin into the building. Mr. Hardinge met us there, and then 
commenced those beautiful and solemn rites which seldom iail to 
touch the hardest heart. TJie rector of St. Michael’s had the great 
excellence of reading all the offices of the church as if he felt them; 
and, on this occasion, the deepest feelings of the heart seemed to be 
thrown into his accents. 1 wondered how he could get on ; but Mr. 
Hardinge felt liimselt a servant of the altar, standing in his Mas- 
ter’s house, and ready to submit to his will. Under such circum- 
stances, it was not a trifle that could unman him. The spirit of the 
divine communicated itself to me. 1 did not shed a tear during the 
whole of the ceremony, but felt myself sustained bj^ the thoughts 
and holy hopes that ceremony was adapted to inspire. 1 believe 
Lucy, who sat in a far corner of the church, was sustained in a 
similar manner; for 1 heard her low sweet voice mingling in the 
responses. Lip service! Let those who would substitute their own 
crude impulses for the sublime rites of our liturgy, making ill-di- 
gested forms the supplanter of a ritual carefully and devoutly pre- 
pared, listen to one of their own semi-conversational addresses to the 
Almighty over a grave, and then hearken to these venerable rites, 
and learn humility. Such men never approach sublimit}", or the 
sacred character that should be impressed on a funeral ceremony, 
except when they borrow a fragment here and there from the very 
ritual they affect to condemn. In their eagerness to dissent, tliey 
have been guilty of tlie weakness of dissenting, so far as forms are 
concerned, from some of the loftiest, most comprehensive, most 
consolatory and most instructive passages of the inspired book! 

It was a terrible moment when the first clod of the valley fell on 
my sister’s coffin. God sustained me under the shock! 1 neither 
groaned nor wept. When Mr. Hardinge returned the customary 
tlianks to those who had assembled to assist me “ in burying my 
-dead out of my sight,” 1 had even sufficient fortitude to bow to the 
little crowd, and to walk steadily a\vay. It is true that John Wal- 
lingford very kindly took my arm to sustain me, but I w"as not con- 
scious of wanting any support. 1 heard the sobs of the blacks as 
theycrow’ded around the grave, which the men among them insisted 
on filling with their own hands, as if ” Miss Grace ” could only rest 
with their administration to her w^ants; and I was told not one of 
them -left the spot until the place had resumed all the appearance of 
freshness and verdure which it possessed before the spade bad been 
applied. The same roses, removed with care, v^ere restored to their 
former beds; and it would not have been easy for a stranger to dis- 
cover that a new-made grave lay by the side of those of the late 
Captain ]\liles Wallingford and his much-respected widow. Still 
It w’as known to all in that vicinity, and many a pilgrimage was 
made to the spot within the next fortnight, the young maidens of 


90 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


the adjoining farms in particular coming to visit the grave of Grace 
Wallingford, the “ Lily of Clawbonny,'' as she hud once been 
styled. 


CHAPTER IX. 

I knew that we must part — no power could save 
Thy quiet goodness from an early grave: 

Those eyes so dull, though kind each glance they cast, 

Looking a sister’s fondness to the last; 

Thy lips so pale, that gently press’d my cheek; 

Thy voice— alas! thou couldst but try to speak; — 

All told thy doom; I felt it at my heart; 

The shaft had struck— I knew that we must part. 

Sprague. 

It is not easy to describe the sensation of loss that came over me 
after the interment of my sister. It is then we completely feel the 
privation with which we have met. The body is removed from out 
of our sight; the places that knew them shall know them no more; 
there is an end to all communion, even by the agency^ of sight, the 
last of the senses to lose its hold on the departed, and a void exists 
in the place once occupied. 1 felt all this very keenly, for more than 
. a month, but most keenly during the short time 1 remained at Claw- 
bonny. The task before me, however, will not allows me to dwell 
on these proofs of sorrow, nor do 1 know that the reader could de- 
rive mucii advantage from their exhibition, 

1 did not see Rupert at the funeral. That he was there 1 knew, 
but either he himself, or Lucy for him, had managed so well, as 
not to obtrude his person on my^ sight. John Wallingford, who 
well knew my external or visible relation to all the Hardinges, think- 
ing to do me a pleasure, mentioned, as the little procession returned 
to the house, that young Mr. Hardinge had, by dint of great activ- 
ity, succeeded in reaching Clawhonny in time for the funeral. 1 
fancy thal Lucy, under the pretense of wishing his escort, con- 
trived to keep her brother at the Rectory during the time 1 was 
abroad. 

On reaching the house, 1 saw all my connections, and thanked 
,them in person for this proof of their respect for the deceased. This 
little duty performed, all but John Wallingford took their leave, and 
1 w^as soon left in the place alone, with my bachelor cousin. AVhat 
a house it was! and what a house it continued to be as long as 1 re- 
mained at Clawbonny! J'he servants moved about it stealthily; the 
merry laugh was no longer heard in tlie kitchen; even the heavy- 
footed seemed to tread on air, and all around me appeared to be 
afraid of disturbing the slumbers of the dead. Never before nor 
since have 1 had occasion to feel how completely a negative may as- 
sume an alfirmative character, and become as positive as if it had a 
real existence. I thought I could see as well as feel my?- sister’s ab- 
sence from the scene iii which she had once been so conspicuous an 
actor. 

As none of the Hardinges returned to dinner, the good divine 
writing a note to say he would see me in the evening after my con- 
nections had withdrawn, John Wallingford and my’-self took that 
meal tete-d-tete. My^ cousin, with the apparent motive of diverting 


MILES WALLIKGEORD. 91 

my tboupjhts from dwelling on the recent scene, began to converse 
on subjects that he was right in supposing might interest me. In- 
stead of flying oft to some topic so foreign to my feelings as con- 
stantly to recall the reason, he judiciously connected the theme with 
my loss. 

“ 1 suppose you will go to sea again, as soon as your ship can be 
got ready. Cousin Miles,” he commenced, after we were left with 
the fruit and wine. ” These are stirring times in commerce, and 
the idle man misses golden opportunities.” 

” Gold has no longer any charm for me. Cousin John,” 1 an- 
swered, gloomily. “ I am richer now than is necessary for my 
wants, and, as I shall probably never marry, 1 see no great use in 
toiling for more. Still, 1 shall go out in my own ship, and that as 
soon as possible. Here 1 would not pass the summer for the place, 
and 1 love the sea. Tes, yes; 1 must make a voyage to some part 
of Europe without delay. It is the wisest thing 1 can do.” 

” That is hearty, and like a man! There is none of your mopes 
about the Wallingfords, and 1 believe you to be of the true stock. 
But why never marry. Miles? Your father was a sailor, and lie 
married, and a very good time I’ve always understood he had of it.” 

‘‘ My father was happy as a husband, and did 1 imilale his ex- 
ample, 1 should certainly marry, too. Nevertheless, 1 feel 1 am to 
be a bachelor. ” 

‘‘In that case, what will become of Clawbonny?” demanded 
Jack Wallingford, bluntly. 

I could not avoid smiling at the question, as 1 deemed him my 
heir, though the law would give it to nearer relatives, who were not 
of the name; but it is probable that John, knowing himself to be so 
much my senior, had never thought of himself as one likely to out- 
live me. 

‘‘ 1 shall make a new will the instant 1 get to town, and leave 
Clawbonny to you,” 1 answered steadily and truly, for such a 
thought had come into my mind the instant 1 saw him. ‘‘ You are 
the person best entitled to inherit it, and should you survive me, 
yours it shall be.” 

‘‘ Miles, 1 like that,” exclaimed my cousin, with a strange sin- 
cerity, stretching out a hand to receive mine, which he pressed 
most warmly. ‘‘ You are very right; 1 ought to be the heir of this 
place, should you die without children, even tiiough you left a 
widow.” 

This was said so naturally, and was so much in conformity with 
my own notions on the subject, that it did not so much offend as 
surprise me. 1 knew John Wallingford loved money, and, all men 
having a very respectful attachment to the representative value, 
such a character invariably means that the party named suffers that 
attachment to carry him loo far. I wisheil, therefore, my kinsman 
had not made just such a speech; though it in no manner shook my 
inteniions in his favor. 

‘‘ You are more ready to advise your friends to get married, than 
to set the example,” 1 answered, willing to divert the discourse a 
little. ” 'You, who must be turned of fifty, are still a bachelor.” 

‘‘ And so shall 1 remain through life. There was a time 1 might 
have inanied, had 1 been iich;\and now I am reasonably rich,T 


92 


MILES WALLIJnGEOKD. 


find other thiugs’to employ niy affections. Still that is no reason 
you should not leave me Clawbonny, though it is not probable 1 
shall ever live to inherit it. Notwithstanding, it is family property, 
and ought not to go out of the name. I was afraid, it you were 
lost at sea, or should die of any of those outlandish fevers that sail- 
ors sometimes take, the place would go to females, and there 
would no Ioniser be a Wallingford at Clawbonny. Miles, 1 do not 
grudge you the possession of the property the least in the world ; but 
it would make me very unhappy to know one of those Hazens, or 
Morgans, or Van-der-Schamps had it.” Jack had mentioned the 
names of the children of so many Miss Wallingfords, aunts or great- 
aunts of mine, and cousins of his own. “ Some of them may be 
nearer to you by a halt degree or so, but none of them are as near 
to Clawbonny. It is Wallingford land, and Wallingford land it 
ought to remain.” 

1 was amused in spite of myself, and felt a disposition now to 
push the discourse further, in order better to understand my kins- 
man’s character. 

” Should neither of us tv^o marry,” 1 said, “ and both die bache- 
lors, what would then be the fate of Clawbonny?” 

“ 1 have thought of all that, Mil&Sy and hero is my answer. Should 
such a thing happen, and there be no other Wallingford. left, then 
no Waliiugfordjvould live to have his feelings hurt by knowing^ 
that a Vander-dunder-Schamp, or whatever these Dutchmen ought 
to be called, is living in his father’s house, and no harm would be 
done. But there Wallingfords besides you and me.” 

” This is quite new ; for 1 had supposed we two were the last.” 

“Not so. Miles the First left two sons; our ancestor, the eldest, 
and one younger, wdio removed into the colony of New Jersey, and 
whose descendants still exist. The survivors of us two might go 
there in quest of our heir in the long run. But do not forget 1 come 
before these Jersey Blues, let them be who or what they may.” 

1 assured my kinsman he should come before them, and changed 
the discourse, for, to own the truth, the manner in which he spoke 
began to displease me. Making my apologies, I retired to my own 
room, while John Wallingford w'ent out, professedly Avith the in- 
tention of riding over the place of his ancestors, with a view to 
give it a more critical examination than it had hitherto been in his 
power to do. 

It was quite dark when I heard the arrival of the Hardinges, as 
the carriage of Lucy drove up to the door. In a few minutes Mr. 
Hardinge entered the study. Hsfir.st inquired after my health, and 
manifested the kind interest he had ever taken in my feelings, after 
which he proceeded: 

” Rupert is here,” he said, “ and 1 have brought him over to see 
you. Both he and Lucy appeared to think it might be well not to 
disturb you to-night, but 1 knew you better. Who should be at 
your side at this bitter moment, my dear Miles, if it be not Rupert* 
your old friend and playmate; 3 ’'our fellow truant, as one might say, 
and almost your brother?” 

Almost my brother! Still 1 commanded myself. Grace had re- 
ceived my solemn assurances, and so had Lucy, and Rupert had 
nothing to apprehend. I even asked to see him, desiring, at the 


MILES AVALLIKGFORD. 


90 


same time, that it might be alone. I waited several minutes tor 
Ruperl ’s appearance, in vain. At length the door of my room 
opened, and Chloe brought me a note. It was from Lucy, and con- 
tained only these words — “ Miles, for Tier sake, for mine, command 
yourself.” Dear creature ! She had no reason to be alarmed. The 
spirit of my sister seemed to me to be present, and 1 could recall 
every expression of her angel countenance as it had passed before my 
eyes in the different interviews that preceded her death. 

At length Rupert appeared. He ha,d been detained by Lucy until 
certain her note was received, when she permitted him to quit her 
side. His manner was full of the consciousness of undeserving, 
and its humility aided my good resolutions. Had he advanced to 
take ray hand; had he attempted consolation; had he, in short, be- 
haved aiflerently in the main from what he actually did, 1 can not 
say what might have been the consequences. But his deportment, 
at first, was quiet, respectful, distant rather than familiar, and he 
had the tact, or grace, or caution, not to make the smallest allusion 
to the sad occasion which had brought him to Clawbonny, When 
1 asked him to be seated he declined the chair I offered, a sign he 
intended the visit to be short. I was not sorry, and determined, at 
■'once, to make the interview as much one of business as possible. I 
had a sacred duty confided to me, and this might be as fit an occa- 
sion as could offer in which to acquit myself of the trust. 

I am glad so early an oopportunity has offered. Mr. Hardinge,” 
1 said, as soon as the opening civilities were over, “ to acquaint you 
with an affair that has been intrusted to me b 7 Grace, and which 1 
am anxious to dispose of as soon as possible.” 

By Grace — by Miss Wallingford!” exclaimed Rupert, actually 
recoiling a step in surprise, if not absolutely in alarm — ” 1 shall feel 
honored— that is, shall have a melancholy gratification in endeavor- 
ing to execute any of her wishes. Ko person commanded more of 
my respect, 3Ir, Wallingford, and 1 shall always consider her one 
of' the most amiable and admirable women with whom it was ever 
my happy fortune to be acquainted:” 

*1 had no difficulty now in commanding myself, for it was easy to 
see Rupert scarce knew what he said. With such a man 1 saw no 
great necessity for using extraordinary delicacy or much reserve. 

” You are doubtless aware of two things in our family history,” 
1 continued, therefore, without ciicunllocution; ‘‘ one tiiat my sis- 
ter would have been mistress of a small fortune, had she reached 
the term of twenty-one years, and the other that she died at twenty. ” 
Rupert’s surprise wms now more natural, and 1 could see that his 
interest — shame on our propensities for it!— was very natural, too. 
“lam aware of both, and deeply deplore the last,” he answered. 
“ Being a minor, she had it not in her power to make a will, but 
her requests are legal legacies in my eyes, and I stand pledged to see 
them executed. She has left rather less than $22,000 in all; with 
$500 of this money T am to present Lucy with some suitable 
memorial of her departed fiiend; some charitable small dispositions 
are also to be made, and the balance, or the round sum of $20,000, 
is to be given to you. ” 

“ To me, Mr. Wallingford!— Miles!— Did you really say to me?” 
“ lo you, Mr. Hardinge- such is my sister’s earnest request— and 


94 


MILES WALLIXGEORD. 


this letter will declare it, as from herself. 1 was to liana you this 
letter, w'hen acquainting you with the bequest.” 1 put Grace’s let- 
ter into Rupert’s hand, as 1 concluded, and 1 sat down to write, 
while he was reading it. Though employed at a desk for a minute 
or two, 1 could not avoid glancing at Rupert, in order to ascertain 
the eflect of the last words of her he had once professed to love. 1 
would wish not to be unjust even to Rupert Hardinge. lie was 
dreadfully agitated, and he walked the room, for some little time, 
without speaking. 1 even fancied I overheard a half-suppressed 
groan. 1 had the compassion to affect to be engaged, in order to 
allow him to recover his self-possession. This was soon done, as 
good impressions were not lasting in Rupert; and 1 knew him so 
well, as soon to read in his countenance, gleamings of satisfaction at 
the prospect of being master of so large a sum. At the proper 
moment, 1 arose and resumed the subject. 

“My sister’s wishes would be sacred with me,” 1 said, ‘‘even 
had she not received my promise to see them executed. When a 
thing of this character is to be done, the sooner it is done the bet- 
ter. 1 have drawn a note at ten days, payable at the Rank of New 
York, and in your favor, for $20,000; it will not inconvenience me 
1o pay it when due, and that will close the transaction.” 

‘‘lam not certain, Wallingford, that 1 ought to receive so large 
a sum — 1 do not know that my father, or Lucy or indeed the 
world, would altogether approve of it.” 

‘‘ Neither your father, nor Lucy, nor the world will know any- 
thing about it, sir, unless you see fit to acquaint them. 1 shall not 
speak of the bequest; and 1 confess that, on my sister’s account, I 
should prefer that you would not.” 

‘‘ Well, IVIr. Wallingford,” answered Rupert, coolly putting the 
note into his wallet, “ 1 will think of this request of poor Grace’s, 
and if 1 can possibly comply wilh her wishes, I will certainly do so. 
There is little that she could ask that 1 would deny, and my effort 
will be to honor her memory. As 1 see you are distressed, 1 will 
now retire; you shall know my determination in a tew days.” 

' Rupert did retire, taking my note for $20,000 with him. 1 made 
no effort to detain him, nor was 1 sorry to hear he had returned to 
the Rectory to pass the night, whither his sister went with him. The 
next day he proceeded to New York, without sending me any mes- 
sage, letaining the note, however; and a day or two later I heard of 
him on his way to the Springs to rejoin the party of the Mertons. 

John Wallingford left me in the morning of the day after the 
funeral, promising to see me again in town. ‘‘ Do not forget the 
will. Miles,” said that singular man, as he shook my hand, “ and 
be certain to let me see that provision in it about Clawbonny, before 
1 go west of the bridge again. Between relations of the same name 
there should be no reserves in such matters.” 

1 scarce knew whether to smile or look grave at so strange a re- 
quest, but 1 did not change my determination on the subject of the 
will itself, feeling that justice required of me such disposiiion of the 
property. I confess there were moments pvrhen I distrusted the char- 
acter of one who could urge a claim of this nature in so plain a man- 
ner, and that, too, at an instant when the contemplated contingency 
seemed the more probable from the circumstance that death had so 


MILES WALLIjq-GFORD. 


95 


recently "been among us. Notwithstanding, there was so much 
frankness in my kinsman’s manner, he appeared to sympathize so 
sincerely in my loss, and his opinions were so similar to my own,, 
that these unpleasant twinges lasted but for brief intervals. On the 
whole, my opinion was very favorable to John Wallingtord, and, as 
will be seen in the sequel, he soon obtained my entire confidence. 

After the departure ot all my kindred 1 felt, indeed, how^ com- 
pletely I was left alone in the w’orld. Lucy passed the night at 
the Rectory, to keep her brother company, and good Mr. Hardinge, 
though ihinking he remained with me to otter sympathy and conso- 
lation, foun^so many demands on his time, that 1 saw but little of 
him. It is possible he understood me sufficiently well to know that 
solitude and rettectiou, while the appearance ot the first was avoided, 
were better for one ot my temperament than any set forms ot con- 
dolence. At any rate, he was at hand, while he said but little to 
me on the subject of my loss. 

At last I got through the day, and a long and dreary day it W'as to 
me. The evening came, bland, refreshing, bringing with it the 
softer light ot a young moon. 1 was walking pn the lawn, when 
the beauty of the'niglit brought Grace and her tastes vividly to my 
mind, and by a sudden impulse 1 vt^as soon swiftly w'alking toward 
her now silent grave. The highways around Clawbonny were never 
much frrequepled, but at this hour, and so soon after the solemn 
procession it had so lately seen, no one was met on the road tow’^ard 
the church-yard. It was months, indeed, after the funeral, that any 
of the slaves ventured into the latter by night, and even during the 
day they approached it with an awe that nothing could have in- 
spired but tlie death of a Wallingford. Perhaps it was owing to 
my increased age and greater observation, but I fancied that these 
simple beings felt the death of their young mistress more than they 
had felt that of my mother. 

St. Michael’s church-yard is beautifully ornamented with fiour- 
islung cedars. These trees had been cultivated with care, and 
formed an appropriate ornament for the place. A fine cluster of 
them shaded the graves of my famil.y, and a rustic seat had been 
placed beneath their branches, by order of my mother, who had 
been in the habit of passing hours in meditation at the grave of her 
hus])and. Grace and 1, and Lucy, had often repaired to the same 
place at night, alter my mother’s death, and there we used to sit 
many an hour in deep silence, of if utterance w'as given to a thought, 
it was a respectful "whisper. As 1 now approached this seat, 1 had 
a bitter satisfaction in remembering that Rupert had never accom- 
panied us in these pious little pilgrimages. Even in the day of her 
greatest ascendenejL Grace had been unable to enlist her admirer in 
an act so repugnant to his innate character. As for Lucy, her own 
family lay on one side ot that cluster of cedars, as mine lay on the 
other, and often had 1 seen the dear young creature weeping, as her 
eyes were riveted on the graves of relatives she had never known. 
But my mother had been her mother, and for this friend she felt an 
attachment almost as strong as that wdiich was entertained by our- 
selves. 1 am not certain 1 ought not to say an attachment quite as 
strong as our own. 

1 was apprehensive some visitors might be hovering near the grave 


MILES M'ALLIETGFORD. 


96 

of my sister at that witching hour, and 1 approached the cedars cau- 
tiously, intending to retire unseen, should such prove to he the case. 
I saw no one, ho"w'ever, and proceeded directly to the line of graves, 
placing myself at the foot of the freshest and most newly made. 
Hardly was this done, when 1 heard the word “ Miles!” uttered in a 
low, half-stifled exclamation. It was not easy for me to mistake the 
voice of Lucy, she was seated so near the trunk of a cedar that her 
dark dress had been confounded witn tiie shadows of the tree. 1 
went to the spot and took a seat at her side. 

“ I am not surprised to find you here,” I said, taking the dear 
girl’s hand, by a sort of mechanical mode of manifesting the affect ion 
which had grown up between us from childhood, rather than from 
any sudden impulse — "'you that watched over her so faithfully 
during the last hours of her existence.” 

“Ah! Miles,” returned a voice that was filled with sadness, 
“ how little did 1 anticipate this when you spoke of Grace in the 
brief interview^ we had at the theater” 

1 understood my companion fully.. Lucy had been educated 
superior to cant and false morals. Her father drew' accurate and 
manl}^ distinctions between sin apd the exactions of a puritanical 
presumption that would set up its own narrow^ notions as the law of 
God; and, innocent as she w^as, no thought of error was associated 
with the indulgence of her innocent ple^isures. But Grace, sufiLer- 
ing and in sorrow, while she herself had been listening to the won- 
derful poems of Shakespeare, did present a painful picture to her 
mind, wdiich, so far from being satisfied with "what she had done in 
my sister’s behalf, was tenderly reproached on account of fancied 
otnissions. 

“It is the will of God, Lucy,” 1 answered. “ It must be our 
effort to be resigned.” 

“ If you can think thus. Miles, how much easier ought it to be for 
me! and, yet—” 

“ Yet, what, Lucy? 1 believe you loved my sister as affectionately 
as 1 did myself, but 1 am sensitive on this point; and, tender, true, 
warm as 1 know your heart to be, 1 can not allow that even you 
4pved her more.” 

“ It is not -that. Miles— it is not that: Have 1 no cause of partic- 
ular regret— no sense of shame— no feeling of deep humility to add 
to my grief for her loss?” 

“ I understand you, Lucy, and at once answer, no. Y'ou are not 
Kupert any more than Ruj^rt is you. Let all others become what 
they may, you will ever remain Lucy Hardinge.” 

“ 1 thank you, Miles,” answered my companion, gently pressing 
the hand that still retained hers, “ and thank you from my heart. 
But your generous nature will not see this matter as others might. 
We were aliens .to your blood, dwellers under your own roof, and 
were bound by every sacred obligation to do you no w'rong. 1 
would not have my dear, upright father know' the truth for worlds.” 

“ He never will know it, Lucy, and it is my earnest desire that we 
all forget it. Henceforth Rupert and 1 must be strangers, though 
the tie that exists between me and the rest of your fanuly will only 
be drawm the closer for this sad event.” 


MILES WALLIIs^GFORD. 97 

“ iiiipert is my brother,” Lucy answered, though it Was in a voice 
so ]o\v that her words were barely audible. 

” You would not leave me quite alone in the world!” 1 said, with 
something like reproachful energy. 

” ]No, Miles, no — that tie, as you have said, rnust and should last 
for life. Nor do 1 wish you to regard Rupert as of old. It is im- 
possible— improper even— but you'can concede to us some of that 
same indulgence which 1 am so willing to concede to you.” 

” Certainly— Rupert is . your brother, as j^ou say, and 1 do not wish 
you ever to regard him otherwise. He will marry Emily Merton, 
and 1 trust he may be happy. Here, over my sister’s grave, Lucy, 

I renew the pledge already made to }’OU, never to act on what has 
occurred.” 

1 got no answer to this declaration in words, but Lucy would act- 
ually have kissed my hand in gratitude had 1 permitted it. Tliis 1 
could not suiter, however, but raised her owui hand to my lips, 
where it was held until the dear girl gently withdrew it herself. 

” Miles,” Lucy said, after a long and thoughtful pause, ” it is 
not good for 5 ’’ou to remain at Claw^bonny. just at this time. Your 
kinsman, John Wallingford, has been here, and 1 think you like 
him. Why not pay him a visit? He resMes near Niagara, ‘ West 
of the Bridge,’ as he calls it,* and you might take the ojtportunity 
of seeing the ‘ Falls.’ ” 

” 1 understand you, Lucy, and am truly grateful for the interest 
you feel in my happiness. 1 do nut intend to remain long at Claw- 
honny, which 1 shall leave to-morrow — ” 

” To-morrowl” interrupted Lucy, and 1 tliought'like one that 
was alarmed. 

” Does that appear too early? 1 feel the necessity of occupation; 
as w’cll as of a change of scene. You will remembW I have a ship, 
and interests of moment to myself, to care for; 1 must turn my face, 
and move toward the east instead of toward the west.” 

” You intend, then, Miles, to pursue this profession of yours!” 
Lucy said, as I thought, with a little like gentle iegr6t in her man- 
ner and tones. 

” Certainly — w’hat bettcT can 1 do? 1 w'ant not wealth, 1 allow; . 
am .rich enough already for all my W’ants, but 1 have need of occu- 
pation. The sea is to my liking, 1 am slill young, and ca,n adord a 
few' more j'ears on the w'ater. 1 shall never marry ” — Luc.y started 
— ” and having now' no heir nearer than John Wallingford — ” 

” John Wallingford! you liave cousins much nearer than he!” 

” That is true; but not of the old line. It was Grace’s wish that 
1 should leave our Cousin John the Claw'bonny pro.perty at least, 
whatever 1 do with the rest. You are so rich now' as not to need 
it, Lrcy; el§e would 1 leave every shilling to you,” 

* In the western part of the State of New York there are several small l^kes 
that lie nearly parallel to each other, and hot far asunder, with lengths that 
vary from fifteen to fort}^ miles. The outlet of one of these lakes — the Cayuga 
—lies in the route of the great thoroughfare to Buffalo, and a bi’idge of a mile 
in length w'as early thrown across it. From this cir(nimstance has arisen the 
expression of saying, •‘West of the Bridge;” meaning the frontier counties, 
which include, among other districts, that which is also known as the “ Gene- 
see Countiy.” 


4 


98 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


“ 1 believe you woiHd, dear Miles,” answered Lucy, with fervent 
warmth ot manner. “ You have ever been all that is good and kind 
to me, and 1 shall never forget it.” 

” I'alk of my kindness to you, L,ucy, when you parted with every 
cent you had on earth to give me the gold you possessed, on my 
going to sea. I am almost sorry you are now so much richer than 
myself, else would I certainly make you my heir.” 

‘‘ We will not talk of money any longer in this sacred place,”' 
Lucy answered tremulously. ” What 1 did as a foolish girl you 
will forget, we were but children then, JVIiles.” 

So Lucy did not wish me to remember certain passages in our 
earlier youth! Doubtless her present relations to Andrew Drewett 
rendered the recollection delicate, if not unpleasant. I thought 
this less like herself than was her wont — Lucy, who was usually so 
simple-minded, so affectionate, so frank, and so true. Keverthe- 
less love is an engrossine sentiment, as I could feel in my own case, 
and it might be that its jealous sensitiveness took the alarm at even 
that which was so innocent and sincere. The effect of these con- 
siderations, added to that of Lucy’s remark, was to change the dis- 
course, and we conversed long, in melancholy sadness, ot her we 
had lost, for this life, altogether. 

‘‘ We may live, ourselves, to grow old. Miles,” Lucy observed, 
” but never shall we cea?e to remember Grace as she was, and to love 
her memory as we loved her dear self in life. There has not been 
an hour since her death that 1 have not seen her sitting at my side 
and conversing in sisterly confidence, as we did frour infancy to the 
day she ceased to live!” 

As Lucy said this, she rose, drew her shawl around her, and held 
out her hand to take leave, for 1 had spoken of an intention to quit 
Clawbonny early in the morning. The tears the dear girl shed 
might have been altogether owing to our previous conversation, or 1 
might have had a share in producing them. Lucy used to weep at 
parting from me, as well as Grace, ‘and she was not a girl to change 
with the winds. But 1 could not part thus; 1 had a sort of feeling 
that when we parted this time, it would virtually be a final separa- 
tion, as the wife ot Andrew Drewett never could be exactly that 
which Lucy Hardinge had now been to me for near twenty years. 

” 1 will not say farewell* now, Lucy,” 1 observed. ” Should you 
not come to town before I sail, L will return to Clawbonny to take 
leave ot you. God only know’s what will become of me, or whither 
1 shall be led, and 1 could wish to defer the leave-takings to the 
last moment. You and your excellent father must have my final 
adieus.” 

Lucy returned the pressure of my hand, uttered a hasty good- 
night, and glided through the little gate of the Rectory, which bjr 
this time we had reached. No doubt she fancied 1 returned imme- 
diately to my own house. So far from this, howver, 1 passed hours 
alone, in the church-yard, sometimes musing on the dead, and then 
with all my thoughts bent on the living. 1 could see the light in 
Lucy’s window, and not till that was extinguished did 1 retire. It 
was long past midnight. 

1 passed hours teeming with strange emotions among those cedars. 
Twice 1 knelt by Grace’s grave, and prayed devoutly to God. Ife 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


99 

■seemed to me that petitions offered in such a place must be blessed. 
1 thought ot my mother, of my manly, spirited father, of Grace, 
and of all the past. Then 1 lingered long beneath Lucy’s window, 
and, in spite ot this solemn visit to (he graves ot the dead, the 
brightest and most vivid image that 1 carried away with me was ©f 
the living. 


CHAPTER X. 

Shy. Three thousand ducats — well. 

Bass. Ay, sir, for three months. 

Shy. For three months— well. 

Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall become bound. 

Shy. Antonio shall become bound— well. 

Merchant of Venice. 

I POUND John Wallingtord in town, awaiting my appearance. 
He had taken lodgings at the City Hotel, on purpose to be under the 
same roof with me, and we occupied adjoining rooms. Idined.with 
him; and after dinner he went with me to take a look at the 
■“ Dawn.” The second mate told me that Marble had made a flying 
visit to the ship, promised to be back -in a few days, and disap- 
peared. By comparing dates, 1 ascertained that he would be in 
time to meet the mortgage sale, and felt no concern in that behalf. 

Miles,” said John VVallingford, coolly, as we were walking up 
Pine Street, un our way back towacj the tavern, ” did you not tell - 
me you employed Richard Harrison as a legal adviser?” 

“ 1 did. Mr. Haidinge made me acquainted w'ith him, and I 
understand he is one of the oldest lawjmrs in the country. .That is 
his office, on the other side ot the street— here, directly opposite.” 

” 1 saw it, and that was the reason 1 spoke. It might be well " 
just to step in and give some directions about your will. 1 wish to 
see Clawbonny put in the right line. If you wmuld .give me a 
deed ot it tor one dollar, 1 would not take it from you, the only son 
ot an eldest son; but it would break my heart to hear of its going 
out of the name. Mr. Harrison is'also an old adviser and friend ot 
mine.” 

1 was startled with this plain-dealing; yet, there was something ■ 
about the manner ot the mao that prevented my being displeased. 

” Mr. Harrison would not be visible at this hour, but I will cross 
to the office, and write him a letter on the subject,” 1 answered, 
doing as 1 said on the instant, and leaving John Wallingford to 
pursue his way to the house alone. The next day, however, the 
will was actually drawn up, executed, and placed in my cousin’s ^ 
hands, he being the sole executor. If the reader should ask me why " 
1 did this, especially tlie last, 1 might be at a loss to answer. A 
strange contidence had come over me, as respects this relative, whose 
extraordinary frankness even a more experienced man might have 
believed to be either the height of honesty, or the perfection of art. " 
Whichever was the case, 1 not only left my will with him, but, in 
the course ot the next week, 1 let him into the secret of all my 
pecuniary affairs; Grace’s bequest to Rupert alone excepted. John 
Wallingford encouraged tin's confidence, telling me that plunging at 
once, heart and hand, into Ihe midst of business, was' the most 


100 


MILES WALLIKGFOKD. 


certain mode of forgetting my causes of sorrow. Plunge into any- 
thing with my whole heart, 1 could not, then, though 1 endeavored 
to lose my cares in business. 

One of my first acts, in the way of affairs, was to look after the 
note 1 had given to Rupert. It had been made payable at the bank 
where 1 liept my deposits and 1 went thither to inquire if it had been 
left for collection. The following conversation passed between my- 
self and the cashier on this occasion: . 

•“ Good morning, Mr. ,” 1 said, saluting the gentleman; ^"1 

have come to inquire if a note for $20,000, made by me in favor of 
Rupert Hardinge, Esquire, at ten days, has been left for collection. 
If so, 1 am ready to pay it now,” 

The cashier gave me a business smile — one that spoke favorably 
of my standing as a money^ed man — before he answered the question. 
This smile was, also, a sign that money was plenty. 

“ INot absolutely for collection, Captain Wallingford, as nothing 
would give us more pleasure than to renew it, if you would just go 
through the form of obtaining a city indorser.” 

“ Mr. Hardinge has then left it for collection,” 1 observed, pained, 
in spite of all that had passed, ^at Rupert’s giving this conclusive 
evidence of the inherent meanness of his character. 

“ Not exactly for collection, sir,” was the cashier’s answer, “ for 
wishing to anticipute the money by a few days, and being’ under 
the necessity of leaving town, we discounted it tor him.” 

“ Anticipate! — ^you have discquuted the note, sir?” 

“With the greatest pleasure, knowing it to be good. Mr. 
Hardinge remarked that you had not found it convenient to draw 
for so large a sum on the spot, and had given this note at short date; 
and the consideration having been received in full, he was desirous 
of being put in cash, at once. We did not hesitate, of course.” 

“ Consideration received in full!” escaped me, spite of a determi- 
nation to be cool; but, luckily, the appearance of another person on 
business prevented the words or the manner from being noted. 

“ Well, Mr. Cashier, 1 will draw a check and take up The note,, 
now.” 

More smiles followed. The check was given; the note was can- 
celed and handed to me, and 1 left the ba^k with a balance in my 
favor of rather more than $10,000, instead of the $30,000 odd, wliich 
1 had held previously to entering it. It is true, 1 was heir-at-law' 
to all Grace’s assets, which Mr. Hardinge had handed over to me. 
the ntorning I left Clawbonny,’ dulj'’ assigned and transferred. 
These last consisted of stocks, and of bonds and mortgages, draw- 
ing interest, being on good farms in our own county 

“Well, Miles, what do you mean to do with your ship?” de- 
manded Jack Wallingford, that evening. “ i understand the 
freight for which you bargained has been transferred to another 
owner, on account of your late troubles; and they tell me freights 
just now, are not very high.” 

“ Really, Cousin JacK, 1 am hardly prepared to answer the ques- 
tion. Colonial produce commands high prices in the north of Ger- 
many, they tell me; and were I in cash I would buy a cargo on my 
own account. Some excellent sugars and coffees, etc.', were offerea 
me to-day, quite reasonably, for ready money.” 


MILES WALLIKG’fORD. _ 101 

“ And how much cash would be necessary to carry out that 
scheme, my man?’' 

“ Some 150,000, more or less, while 1 have hut about $10,000 on 
hand, thougli 1 can command $20,000 additional by selling Certain 
securities, so 1 must abandon the notion.” 

‘‘ That does not tollow necessarily. Let me think a night on it. 
arid we will talk further in the morning. 1 like quick bargains, 
but 1 like a cool head. This hot town and old Madeira keep me in 
a fever, and 1 wish' a night’s rest before 1 make a bargain.” 

The next morning John Wallingford returned to the subject, at 
breakfast, which meal we took by ourselves, in order to be at liberty 
to converse without any auditors. 

”1 have thought over that sweet subject, the sugars, Miles,” 
commenced my cousin, “and approve of the plan. Can you give 
me any further security if 1 will lend you the money?” 

” 1 have some bonds and mortgages, to the amount of tweuty-two 
thousand dollars, with me, which might be assigned for such a pur-^ 
pose.” 

” But $22,000 are an insufficient security for the $30,000, or $35,- 
000 which 5'ou may need to carry c ut your adventure. ” 

“ That is quite true, but 1 have nothing else worth mentioning — 
unless it be the ship or Clawbouny.” 

“ Tut for the ship! she is gone if you and your cargo go; and as 
for insurances, 1 want none of them— 1 am a landed man, and like 
landed securities. Give me your note at three months, or six months 
if you will, with the bonds and mortgages you mention, and a mort- 
gage on C’lawbonny, and you can have $40,000 this very day, should 
you need them.” ' 

1 was surprised at tiiis offer, having Mo notion my kinsman was 
'rich enough to lend so large a sum. On a further conversation, 
however, 1 learned he had near double the sum he had mentioned 
in ready money, and that his principal business in town was to in- 
vest in good city securities. He professed himself willing, however, 
to lend me halt, in order to help along a kinsman he liked. 1 did 
not at all relish the notion of mortgaging Clawbonny, but John soon 
laugheil and reasoned me out of that. As for Grace’s securities, t 
parted with them with a sort of satisfaction; the idea of holding her 
effects being painful to me. 

“ Wbre it out of the family, or even out of the name, I should 
think something of it myself. Miles,” he said,. “ but a mortgage 
tvom^ou to meis like one from me to you. You have made me yoiir 
heir., an.d to be honest with you, boy, 1 hate made you mine. If 
you lose my money, you lose your own.” 

There W’as no resisting this. My kinsman’s apparent frankness 
and warmth of disposition overcame all my scruples, and I con- 
sented to borrow the money on his own terms. John Wallingford 
was familiar- with the conveyancing of real estate, and with his own 
hand he filled up the necessary papers, which 1 signed. The money 
was borrowed at five per cent., my cousin positively refusing to re- 
ceive the legal rate of interest from a Wallingford. Pay-day was 
put at six months’ distance, and all was done in due form. 

“ 1 shall not put this mortgage ‘on record, Miles,” Jack Walling- 
ford remarked, as he folded and indorsed the paper. “ 1 have too 


102 


MILES' WALLINGFORD. 


much confidence in your honesty to believe it necessary. You have 
given one mortgage on Olawbonny with loo much reluctance to ren- 
der it probable* you will be in a hurry to execute another. As for 
myselt, 1 own to a secret pleasure in having even this incomplete 
hold on the old place, which makes me leel fwice as much ot a 
AVallinfff ord as 1 evfer felt before.” 

For my pari, 1 wondered at my kinsman’s family pride, and 1 
began to think 1 had been too humble in my own estimate ot our 
standing in the world. It is true, it was not easy to deceive myself 
in this particular, and in point of fact 1 was certainly right; but 
when 1 found a man who was able to lend $40,000 at an hour’s no- 
tice, valuing himself on coming from Miles the First, 1 could not 
avoid fancying Miles the First a more considerable personage than 
1 had hitherto imagined. As for the money, 1 was gratified with 
the confidence John Wallingford reposed in me, had really a wish 
to embark in the adventure for which it supplied the means, and re- 
garded the abstaining from recording the mortgage an act of deli- 
cacy and feeling that spoke well lor the lender’s heart. 

My cousin did not cast me adrift, as soon as he had filled my 
pockets. On the contrary, he went with me, and was a witness to 
all the purchases 1 made. The colonial produce was duly bought, 
in his presence, and many a shrewd hint did 1 get from this cool- 
headed and experienced man, who, while he was no merchant, in 
the common sense ot the term, had sagacity enough to make a first- 
class dealer. As I paid for every thing in ready money, the cargo 
was obtained on good terras, and the “ Dawn ” was soon slowed. As 
soon as this was done, 1 ordered a crew shipped, and the hatches 
battened on. 

As a matter of course, the constant and important business with 
which 1 was now occupied, had a tendency to dull the edge of my 
grief, though 1 can truly say that the image of Grace was never 
long absent from my mind, even in the midst of my greatest exer- 
tions. .‘Nor was Lucy forgotten. She was usually at my sister’s 
side, and it never happen^ that 1 remembered the latter, without 
seeing the beautiful semblance ot her living friend watching over 
. her faded form, with sisterly solicitude. John Wallingford left me 
• at the end ot a week, after seeing me fairly under way as a mer- 
chant as well as a ship -owner and ship-master. 

Farewell, Miles,” he said, as he shooK my hand with a cordial- 
ity that appeared to increase the longer he knew me; ” farewell, 
my dear boy, and may God prosper you in all your lawful and just 
undertakings. Never forget you are a Wallingford, and the owner 
of Olawbonny. Should w'e meet again, you will find a true friend 
in me; should we never meet, you will have reason to remem- 
ber me.” 

This leave-taking occurred at the inn. A few hours after 1 was 
in the cabin of the “ Dawn,” arranging some papery, wfien 1 heard 
a welbknown voice on deck, calling out to Ihe stevedores and rig- 
gers, in a tone of authority, ” Come, bear a hand, and lay aft; oft 
that forecastle; to this derrick — who ever saw a derrick standing 
before, after the hatches were battened down, in a first class ship — 
a regular A No. 1? Bear a hand— ‘bear a hand; you’ve got an old 
sea-dog among you, men.” 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


loa 


t- tlie person. On reaching the deck 1 

toMd JIarble, his coat off, but still wearing all the rest of his “ go- 
ashwes, flourislimg about among the laborers, putting into them 
new life am activity. He iieard my footsteps behind him, but never 
turnecl to salute me, until the matter in hand was terminated Then 
1 receiyeu Umt honor, and it was -easy to see the cloud that passed 
over his red visage, as he observed the deep mourning in which I 
was clad. . , 

a ihate^morning ; to you. Captain ^ allingtord. ’ ’ he said makin «• 

. sinners, and so arersv^mornin^, sir. God's will be done' we are all 
standing as if the ship needed. who’ve left this derrick 

will must be submitted to; and sorry enougtrw^fi|;_ Yes sir God's 
tery lo. tbe newsoapeis^^G’race, etc.^ riau^liter^ etc. ^ 
etc. You’ll be glad to hear, however, sir, that Willbw Cove is 
moored head and starn in the family, as one might say, and that the 
bloody mortgage is cut adrift.” 

” 1 am glad to hear this, Mr. Marble,” I answered, submitting 
to a twinge, as 1 retnembered that a mortgage bad just been placed 
on my own paternal acres; ” and 1 trust the place will long remaiu 
in your blood. How did you leave your mother and niece?” 

” I’ve not left ’em at all, sir. I brought the old lady and Kitty to 
tovvn with me on what 1 call the mutual sight seeing principle. 
They are both up at my boarding-house.” 

” 1 am not certain, Moses, that, 1 understand this mutual principle 
of which you speak.” 

” God bless you. Miles,” returned the mate who could presume to 
be familiar, again, now we had walked so far aft as not to have any 
listeners; ” call me Moses as often as you possibly can, for it’s little 
1 hear of that pleasant sound now. Mother will dub me Oloft, and 
little Kitty calls me nothing but uncle.- After all, 1 have a bulrush 
leelin’ about me, and Moses will always seem the most natYal. As 
for the mutual principle, it is just this; 1 m to show mpther the 
‘ Dawn,’ one or two of the markets— for, would you believe it, the 
dear, old soul never saw a market, and is dying to visit one, and so 
1 shall take her to see the Bear first, and the Oswego next, 
and the Fly last, thmrgh she cries out ag’iri a market that is 
much visited by flies. Then 1 must introduce her to one of the 
Dutch churches; after that ’twill go hard with me, but 1 get the- 
dear soul into the theater; and they tell me there is a liou, up town, 
that will roar as loud as a bull, that she must see, of course.” 

And when your mother has seen all these sights, what will she 
have to show you?” 

” The tombstone on which 1 was laid out, as a body might say, 
at five weeks old. She tells me they traced the stone, out of fellin’ 
like, and followed it up until they fairly found it, set down as tho 
headstone of an elderly single lady, with a most pious edifying in- 
scription on it. Mother says it contains a whole varse from tho 
Bible! That stone may yet stand me in hand, for any thing 1 know 
to the contrary, Miles.” 

I congratulated my mate ou this important discovery, and in. 
quired the particulars of the affair with the old usurer; in what man. 


104 


MILES IVALLIXGFOKI). 



Mui'ble answered. Do you know. Miles, iliat they call paVhi^r „a 
one of your heavy loads on land, ‘ lifting the mortgage; /md a lilt 
it is 1 can tell vou, when a man has no money t^o cIq, jt Witii. The 
true way to get out ot debt is to earn money; I’ye- found that much 
out since 1 found my mother: and, the cash ir ht^nd, all you haye 
to do is to hand it over. Old Van Tassel wafi civiLiej^^^'iie didn’t 
he saw the bag of dollars, and w^as fulLjQl.ftf;T[iot he; and she wa§ 
wish to distress the ‘ worUj’^aV long as she pleased, provided the 
welcome ta-Pop^^rfclvi^ly paid;’ but I’d have none of his spfl, 
words, and biia-'trdwn the Spaniards, and told him to •co\^hf 
them. !• ‘ lifted his incumbrance,’ as they call’d it, as caidv 
,a3 if it had been a pillow ot fresh feathers, and walked oil’ 
with that bit of paper in my bands, Avith the names tore off it, and 
satisfaction give me, as my lawyer said. This law is^droll bnsipess, 
Hiles; it money is paid, tliey give you satisfajction, ]ust as gentle- 
men call on each other, you know, wlien a little cross. But, what- 
ever you do, never put your hand' and seal to a mortgage; for land 
tinder such a curse is as "likely to slide one W'ay as the other. Claw- 
bonny is an older place than ^AMllow Cove, even; and both are loo 
venerable and venerated to be mortgaged.” 

The advice came too late. Clawbonny was morlgaged already, and 
1 confess to several new and violent twinges, as 1 recalled the fact, 
while Marble w’as telling his story^ Still 1 could not liken my kins- 
man, plain-talking, warm-hearted, family-loving, John Walling- 
ford, to such a griping usurer as Mrs. Wetmore’s persecutor. 

Iwas glad to see my mate on every account. He relieved me from 
a great deal of irksome dutj', and took charge of the ship, bringing 
his mother and Kitty that ver}’’ day to live in the cabin. 1 could 
perceive that the old woraap was greatly" surprised at the neatness she 
found in all directions. According to her notions, a ship floated 
nearly as much in tar as in the water; and great was her pleasure in 
finding rooms almost (conscience will not allow me to say quite) as 
clean as her own residence. For one whble day she desired to see 
no rhore than the ship, though it w’as easy to discover that the good 
woman had set her heart on the Dutch church aud the lion. In 
due lime her son redeemed all Ids pledges, not forgetting the the- 
ater. With the last good Mrs. Wetmore w^as astounded, and Kitty 
infinitely delighted. The pretty little thing confessed that she 
should like to go every night, wondered what Ilorace Bright would 
think of it, and wdiether he would dare to venture alone to a play- 
house, should he happen to come 1o York. In 1803 this country 
was still in the palmy state of iiusophistication. There were few", 
scarcely any, strolling players, aud noneljut those who visited the 
cities, properly so called, enjoyed opportunities of witnessing the 
wonders of paint, patch, and candle-light, as auxiliary to the other 
winders of tlie stage. Poor little Kitty ! There was a day or two, dur- 
ing which the sock and buskin wrought llieir usual effect on her 
female nature, and almost eclipsed the" glories of Horace Bright, in 
her own bright eyes. 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


105 - 


1 could not reftain from accompanying Marble’s party to the . 
museum. In that day this was a somewhat insignificant collection 
of curiosities, in Greenwich Street, nut it was a miracle to the aunt 
and niece. Even the worthy Manhattanese were not altogether 
guiltless of esteeming it a' wonder, though the greater renown of the 
Philadelphia Museum kept tiiis of New York a little in the sliade. 

1 have often had occasion to remark that, in this republic, the peo- 
ple in the country are a little less couatry% and the people of the 
towns a good deal less town, than is apt to be the case in great 
nations. The last is easily enough accounted for; the towns having 
shotirpso rapidly, and receivine: their accessions of population from 
classes not accustomed to town lives from childhood. Were a 
thousand villages to be compressed into a single group of houses 
their people would long retain the notions, tastes, and habits of 
villagers, though they would form a large town in the aggregate. 
Such, in a measure, is still the fact with our American towns; no 
(me of them all having the air, rone, or appearance of a capital, 
while most of them would be paragons in the eyes of such persons' 
3S old Mrs. Wetmore and her granddaughter. Thus it was that 
(‘.he Greenwich Street Museum gave infinite satisfaction to these two 
unsophistocated visitors. Kitty was most struck with certain vil- 
lainous wax-figures.— works of art that were much on a level with 
certain similar objects that were lately, if they are not now, ex- 
hibited for the benefit of the Dean and Chapter of Westminster 
Abbey, above the tombs of the Plantagenets, and almost in contact 
with that marvel of Gothic art, Henry Vll.’s chapel! It is said 
that “ misery makes a man acquainted with strange bed-fellows.” 
So, it would seem, do shillings and sixpences. To return to Kitty; 
after admiring divers beauties, such as the New York Beauty, the 
South Carolina Beauty, and the Pennsylvania Beauty, she fastened 
her own pretty eyes on a nun, wondering who a ‘female in such an 
attire could be. In 1803 a nun and a nunnery would be almost as 
great curiosities in America as a rhinoceros, though the country’’ 
has since undergone some changes in this respect. 

“Grandmother,” exclaimed Kitty, “who can that lady be— it 
isn’t Lady Washington, is it?” 

“ It looks more like a clergyman’s wife, Kitly%” answered the 
worthy Mrs. Wetmore, not a little '' non-plvslied." herself, as she 
afterward admitted. “ 1 should think Madam Washington went 
more gayly dressed, and looked happier like, i’m sure if any woman 
could be' happy, it was she!” 

“ Ay,” answered her son, “ there is truth in that remark. This 
woman here is what is called a nun in the Roman Catholic quarters 
of the world.” 

“ A nun!” repeated little Kitty. “ Isn’t that the sort ot woman 
that shuts herself up in a house, and promises never to get married, 
uncle?” 

“ You’re quite right, my dear, and it’s matter of surprise to me 
how you should pick up so many useful idees, in an out-of-the-way 
place like 'Willow Cove.” 

“ It was not out of your way, uncle,” said Kitty, a little reproach- 
fully, “ fir you never would have found us.” 


106 


MILES AVALLINGFOKD. 

. “ In that partic’lar it was w«ll euonjrh, dear; Yes, a nun is 
a sort ot she hermit, a breed that 1 detest altogether.” 

“ 1 suppcjse, Kitty,” I inquired, “ you think it wicked in man 
or woman to take a vow never to get married?” 

The poor girl blushed, and she turned aWay from the nun with- 
out making any reply. Ko one can say wiiat turn the conversation 
might have taken, had not the grandmother’s eye tell on an in- 
different copy of Leonardo’s celeb^rated picture of the Last Supper, 
receiving at the same time a printed explanation, one got up b}’’ 
some local antiquary, who had ventured to affix names to the differ- 
ent personages of the group, at his own suggestion. 1 pointed out 
the principal figure of the painting, which is sufficiently conspic- 
uous, by the way, and then referred the good woman to the cata- 
logue for the rest of the names. “ Bless me, bless me!” exclaimed 
the worthy mother, “ that 1 should live ever to see paintings of 
such people! Kitty, my dear, this balddieaded old man is St. 
Peter. Did you ever think that St. Peter was bald? And there 
is- St. John, with black eyes. Wonderful, wonderful, that 1 should 
ever live to see likenesses ot such blessed men !” 

Kitty was as much astonished a's' her grandmother, and even the 
son was a little mystified. The latter remarked that " the world 
W'as making great lieadway in all such things, an,d, for his part, he 
did not see how the painters and authors found out all they drew 
and recorded. ” 

The reader may easily imagine that half a day spent in such com- 
pany^ was not entirely thrown s,vfa.y. Still, half a day sufficed; mnd 
1 went to the Old Coffee-house at one, to eat a sandwich and drink 
a glass of porter; that being the inn then most frequented for such 
purposes, especially by the merchants. 1 was in iny box, with the 
curtain drawn, when a party of three entered that which adjoined 
it, ordering as many glasses ot punch; which in that day was a 
beverage much in request of a morning, and w'hich it was permitted 
even to a gentleman to drink before dining. It was the sherry- 
'cobbler of the age; although 1 believe every thing is now pro- 
nounced to be out ot fashion before dinner. 

As the boxes were separated merely by curtains, it was impossible 
•to avoid hearing any conversation that passed in the one adjoining 
my own, especially when the parties took no pains to speak low, as 
.happened to be the case with my three neighbors. Consequently, 1 
recognized the voices ot Andrew Drewett and Rupert Hardinge in 
an instant; that of the third person being unknown to me. 

“ Well, Norton,” said Rupert, a little affectedly as to manner, 
“ you have got Drewett and myself down here among you traders, 
and 1 hope you will do the honors ot the place, in a way to confer 
on the latter some credit. A merchant is nothing without credit, 
you know.” 

“ Have no apprehensions for yo.ur gentility, Hardinge,” returned 
the person addressed. “ IMany^ of the first persons in town frequent 
thfs house, at this hour, and its punch is renowned. By the way, 
1 saw in a paper, the other dajL Rupert, that one ot your relatives 
is dead — Miss Grace Wallingford, your sister’s old associate.” 

A short pause followed, during which I scarcely breathed. 

“No, not a relation,” Rupert at length answered. “ Only my 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 107 

father’s ward. You know how it is in the coiintr}’'; the clergyman 
being expected to take care of all the sick and all the orphans.” 

‘‘ But these Wallingtords are people altogether above standing in 
need oi tavors,” Drewett hastily observed. “ 1 have been at their 
place, and really it is a respectable spot. • As for Miss Wallingford, 
she was a most charming girl, and her death will prove a severe 
blow to your sister, Hardinge.” 

This was said with so much feeling that 1 could almost forgive 
the speaker for loving Lucy, though 1 question if 1 could ever truly 
forgive him for being beloved by her. 

‘‘ Why, yes,” rejoined Rupert, affecting an indifference that I 
could detect he was far from feeling, “ Grace uoas a good creature; 
though, living so much with her in childhood, she had less interest 
in my eyes, perhaps, than she might haye had in those of one less 
accustomed to see her. JSotwithstaiiding, I had a sort of regard for 
Grace, 1 will confess.” 

‘‘ Respect and esteem her, 1 should think all who knew her 
must,” added Drewett, as if determined to win my heart; ” and, in 
my opinion, she was both beautiful and lovely.” 

“ This from a man who is confessedly an admirer, nay, engaged 
to your own sister, as the world says, Hardinge, must be taken aa 
warm praise,” said the third. “ But 1 suppose Drewett sees the 
dear departed with the eyes of her friend — for Miss Hardinge was 
very intimate with her, 1 believe. ” 

“As intimate as sisters, and loving each other as sisters,” re- 
turned Drewett, with feeling. ” No "intimate of Miss Hardinge ’s 
can be any thing but meritorious.” 

'‘Grace Wallingford had merit beyond a question,” added 
Rupert, ‘‘ as has her brother, who is a good, honest fellow enough. 
When a boy, 1 was rather intimate \yith him.” 

“The certain proof of his excellences and virtues, ” put in the 
stranger, laughing. ‘‘But, it a ward, there must be a fortune. I 
think 1 have heard these Wallingfords were richish.” 

‘‘ Yes, that is just it — richish” said Drewett. ‘‘ Some forty or 
fifty thousand dollars between them, all of which the brother must 
now inherit; and glad am 1 it falls to so good a fellow.” 

‘‘ This is generous praise from you^ Drewett, for i have heard 
this brother might prove your rival.” 

‘‘ 1 had some such fears myself, once, 1 will confess,” returned 
the other, ‘‘ but they are all vanished, I no longer tear him, and 
can see and acknowledge his merits. Besides, 1 am indebted to 
him for my life.” 

‘‘ No longer fear him.” This was plain enough, and was proof of 
the understanding that existed between the lovers. And why 
should 1 be feared? 1, who had never dared to say a word to the 
object nearest my heart, that might induce her to draw the ordinary 
distinction between passion and esteem — love and a brotherly regard ? 

‘‘ Ay, Drewett is pretty safe, 1 fancy,” Rupert remarked, laugh- 
ing, ‘‘ though it will hardly do for me to tell tales out of school.” 

‘‘ This is a forbidden subject,” rejoined the lover, ‘‘ and we will • 
talk of Wallingford. He must inherit his sister’s fortune.” 

‘‘ Poor Grace! it was little she had to leave, I fancy,” Rupert 
quietly observed. 


108 ^ MILES WALLIMGFORD. 

// 

“Ay, little in your eyes, Hardinge,” added the third person, 
“ but a good deal in those of her brother, the shipmaster, one might 
think. Ever since you have fallen heir to Mrs., Bradf oil’s estate, a 
lew thousands count for nothing.’' 

“ Were it a million that brother would think it dearly purchased 
by the loss of his sister!’’ exclaimed Drewett. 

“ It’s plain enough thefe is no rivalry between Andrew and 
Miles,” added the laughing Rupert. “ Certainly money is not 
quite so much account with me now. as it used to be when 1 had 
nothing but a clergyman’s salary to glean from. As tor Mrs. Brad- 
fort’s fortune, it came from a common ancestor, and 1 do not see 
who has a better right to it than those who now enjoy it.” • 

“ Ijnless it might be your father,” said the thiid man, “who 
stood before you, according to the laws of primogeniture. 1 dare 
say Rupert made love to' his venerable cousin, jf the truth were 
known, and induced her to overlook a generation, with his oily 
t(»ngue. ” 

“ Rupert did nothing of the sort; it is his glory to love Emily 
Merlon, and Emily Mprlon only. As my worthy cousin could not 
take her fortune with her she lelt it among her natural heirs. How 
^ do you know 1 have got any of it? - I give you my honor, my ac- 
count in bank is under $20,000.” 

“A pretty fair account, that, by .Jove!” exclaimed the other. 
“ It must be a rajtping income that will permit a fellow like you to 
keep up such a balance.” 

“ Why, some persons say my sister has the whole fortune. 1 
dare say that Drewett can satisfy you on this head. The affair 
concerns him quite as much as it does an}" other person of my ac- 
quaintance.” 

“ 1 can assure you 1 know nothing about it,” answered Drewett, 
honestly. “ Ror do 1 desire to know. 1 would marry Miss Har- 
dinge to-morrow, though she had not a cent.” 

“ It’s just this disinterestedness, Andrew, that makes me like 
you,” observed Rupert, magnificently. “ Depend on it, you’ll fare 
none the worse, in the long run, for this admirable trait in your 
character. Lucy knows it, and appreciates it as she should.” 

“ 1 wished to hear no more, but left the' box and the house, taking 
care not to be seen. From that moment 1 was all impatience to get 
to sea. 1 forgot even the intention of visiting my sister’s grave; 
nor did 1 feel that 1 could sustain another interview with Lucy her- 
self. That afternoon 1 told Marble the ship must be ready to sail 
the succeeding morning. 

CHAPTER XI. 

Go tenderness of years; take this key. Give enlargement to the swain— bring 
him festinately 'hither. I must employ him in a letter to my love.— jLoue’s 
Labor's Lo'st. 

1 WILL not atteiiipt to analyze the feelings which now impelled 
me to quit America. 1 had discovered, or thought 1 had discovered, 
certain qualities in Andrew Drewett which rendered him, in some 
measure at least, worthy of Lucy; and 1 experienced how painful 
it is to concede such an advantage to a rival. Still, I must be just 
enough to add, that in my cooler moments, when I came to con- 


MILES WALLIK'GFOKI). 109 

sider that Lucy coulrt never be mine, 1 was rejoicedf to find such 
proofs of ^ generous disposition in her future husband. On the 
other hand, 1 could no! divest myself ot the idea that perfect con- 
fidence in his own posilion could alone enable him to be so liberal 
in his opinions of myself. I'he reader will understand how extrav- 
agant was this last supposition, when he remembers that 1 had never 
given Luc}' herself, or the world, any sufiicient reason to suppose 
that 1 was a suitor for the dear girl’s band. 

1 never saw Marble so indusliious as he proved to be when he re- 
ceived my hurried orders for sailing, that afternoon. He shipped 
his mother and niece for Willow Cove, by an Albany Sloop, the 
same evening, got the crew on board, and the “Dawn” into the 
stream, before sunset, and passed halt the night in sending off small 
stores. As for the ship, she had been cleared tlie day the hatches 
were battened down. According to erery rule ot mercanlile thrift, 
1 ought to have been at sea twent)^-four hours, when these orders 
were given; but a lingering reluctance to go further from the grave 
of Grace, the wish to have one more inter view with Lucy, and a dis- 
position to indulge my mate in his commendable zeal to amuse his 
new-found relatives, kept me in port beyond my day. 

All these delays, how^ever, were over, and 1 was now in a fever- 
ish hurry to be off. Neb cajne up to the City Hotel as 1 was break- 
fasting, and reported that the ship was riding at single anchor, with 
a short range, and that the fore-topsail was loose, i sent him to the 
post-office for letters, and ordered my bill. All my trunks had gone 
aboard before the ship hauled off, and — the distances in ISew York 
then being short — "Neb was soon back, and ready to shoulder my 
caipet-bag. The bill was paid, three or four letters were taken in my 
hand, and 1 walked toward the Battery, followed by the faithful 
black, who had again abandoned home, Chloe, and Claw bonny, to 
follow my fortunes, 

1. delayed opening the letters until 1 reached the Battery. Dis- 
patching Neb to the boat, with orders to wait, 1 took a turn among 
the trees— still reluctant to quit the native soil— while 1 broke the 
seals. Tw^o of the letters bore the post-marks of the office nearest 
Clawbonny; the tliird was from Albany; and the fourth was a 
packet of some size from Washington, fraid^ed by the [Secretary of 
State, and bearing the seal of office. Surprised at such a circum- 
stance, 1 opened the last of these communications first. 

The official letter proved to be an envelope containing — with a 
civil request to myself to deliver the inclosures — dispatches addressed 
to the consul at Hamburg, for which port my ship had been adver- 
tised some time. Of course, 1 could only, determine to comply;' 
and that communication was disposed of. One of the Clawbonny 
letters was in Mr. Hardinge’s hand, and 1 found it to contain some 
excellent and parental advice. He spoke ot my sister, but it was 
calmly, and with the humble hope that became his sacred office, 1 
was not sorry to find that he advised me not to visit Clawbonny be- 
fore 1 sailed. Lucy, he. said, was well, and a gentle sadness was 
gradually taking the place of the livelier grief she had endured, im- 
mediately after the loss of her friend.* “ Y"ou were not aware, Miles, 
how keenly she suffered,” my good old guardian continued, “for 
she struggled hard to seem calm in your presence; but from me my 


110 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


dear child had no secrets on this subject, -whatever she may see 
to have on another. Hours has she passed, weeping on my bosom, 
and 1 much doubt if the image bt Grace has been absent from her 
waking thoughts a single minute, at any one time, since we first laid 
your sister’s head in the coffin. Of you she does not speak often, 
but, when she does, it is ev'er in the kindest and most solicitous 
manner; calling you ‘ Miles,’ ‘ poor Miles,’ or ‘ dear Miles,’ with all 
that sisterly frankness and affection you have known in her from 
childhood. ” The old gentleman had underscored the sisterly'* him- 
self. 

To my delight and surprise, there was a long, very long letter 
from Lucy, too! How it happened that 1 did not recognize her 
pretty, delicate, lady- like handwriting, is more than 1 can say; but 
the direction had been overlooked in the confusion of receiving so- 
many letters together. That direction, too, gave me pleasure. It 
was to “Miles Wallingford, Esquire;’’ whereas the three others 
were addressed to “ Captain Miles Wallingford, ship ‘ Dawn,’ New 
York.” Now a shipmaster is no more entitled, in strict usage, to 
be called a “ captain,” than he is to be called an “ esquire.” Your 
man-of-war officer is the only true captain ; a “ master ” being noth- 
ing but a “ master.” Then, no American is entitled to be called 
an “ esquire,” which is the correlative of “ knight,” and is a title 
properly prohibited by the constitution, though most people imagine 
that a magistrate is an “ esquire,” ex-o-fjido. He is an “ esquire ” as 
a member of Congress is an “ honorable,” by assumption, and not 
of right; and 1 wish the country had sufficient self-respect to be 
consistent with itself. What should we think of Mark Anthony, 
Esquire? or of Squire Lucius Junius Brutus? or His Excellency 
Julius Caesar, Esquire?* Nevertheless, “ esquire ” is an appellation 
that is now universally given to a gentleman; who, in truth, is the 
only man in this country that has any right to it at all, and he only 
by courtesy. Lucy had felt this distinction, and 1 vras grateful for 
the delicacy and tact with which she had dropped the “ captain,” 
and put in the “ esquire.” To me it seemed to say that slie recog- 
nized me as one of her own class, let Rupert and his light associates 
think of me as they might. Lucy never departed a hair’s breadth 
from the strictly proper,, in ail matters of this sort, something hav- 
ing been obtained from education, but far more from the inscrutable 
gifts of nature. 

As for the letter itself, it is too long to copy; yet 1 sc«rce know 
how to describe .it. Full of heart it was. of course, for the dear 
girl was all heart; and it was replete with her truth and nature. 
The only thing in it that did not give me entire satisfaction, w^as a 
request not to come again to Clawbonny until my return from 
Europe. “ Time,” she added, “ will lessen the pain of such a visit; 
and, by that time, you will begin to regard our beloved Grade as I 
already regard her, a spotless spirit, waiting for our union with it 
in the mansions of bliss. It is not easy. Miles, to know how to treat: 
such a loss as this of ours. God may bless it to our lasting good, 
and, in this light, it is useful to bear it ever in mind; while too 

• 

* A fe-w years since, the writer saw a marriage announced in a colored pay. r 
■which read, “ 3Iarried by the Rev. Julius Caesar, Washington, to Miss 


MILES WALLIlsGPORD. 


Ill 


^eat submission to sorrow may only serve to render us unhappy. 
Still, 1 think, no one who knew Grace, as we knew her, can ever 
recall her image without feeling himself drawn nearer to the dread 
beina: who created her, and who has called her to nimself so early. 
We, alone, thoroughly understood the beloved creature! My dear, 
excellent lather loved her as he loves me, but he could not, did not 
know all the rare virtues of her heart. These could be known only 
to those who knew her great secret, and, God be praised! even 
Rupert has little true knowledge of that. 

“My father has spoken to me of Grace’s wish, that he and 1 
should accept some memorials of the affection she bore us. These 
were unnecessary, but are far too sacred to be declined. 1 sincerely 
wish that their value in gold had been less, for the hair 1 possess 
^some of which is reserved for you) is tar more precious to me than 
any diamonds or stones could possibly become. As, however, 
something must be purchased or procured, 1 have to request that my 
memorial may be the pearls you gave Grace, on your return from 
the Pacific. Of course 1 do not mean the valuable necklace you have 
reserved for one who will one day be still dearer to you than any of 
us,. but the dozen or two of f earls that you bestowed on your sister, 
in my presence, at Clawbonny. They are sufficiently .valuable in 
themselves to answer all the purposes of Grace’s bequest, and 1 
know they were very much prized by her as your gift, dear Miles. 
1 am certain you will not believe they will be the less valuable in 
my eyes on that account. As 1 know where they are, 1 shall go to 
Clawbonny and take possession of them at once, so you need give 
yourself no further concern on account of the memorial that was to 
be presented to me. 1 acknowledge its reception, unless you object 
to my proposition.” 

1 scarce knew what to think of this. 1 would gladly have be- 
stowed on Lucy pearls of equal value to those 1 had given Grace, 
but she refused to receive them, and now she asked lor these very 
pearls, which, intrinsically, were not half the value of the sum 1 
had informed Mr. Hardinge Grace had requsted me to expend in 
purchasing a memorial. This avidity to possess these pearls — for it 
so struck me— was difficult to account for, Grace having owned 
divers other ornaments that were more costly, and which she had 
much oftener worn. 1 confess 1 thought of attempting to persuade 
Lucy to receive my own necklace as the memorial of Grace, but a 
little reflection satisfied me of the hopelessness of success, and noth- 
ing had been said on the subject. Of course 1 acquiesced in the 
wish of the dear girl to possess the pearls, but at the same time 1 
determined to make the additional purchase, more thoroughly to 
carry out the wishes of my sister. 

On the whole, the letter of Lucy gave me a great and soothing 
pleasure. 1 came to a resolution to answer it, and to send that an- 
swer back by the pilot. 1 had no owner to feel any solicitude in 
the movements of the ship; had no longer a sister to care for my- 
self, and to whom else could my last words on quitiing the land be 
so appropriately addressed, as to this constant and true-hearted 
friend? That much, at least, 1 could presume to call Lucy, and 
even to that 1 clung as the shipwrecked mariner clings to the last 
plank that floats. 


113 MILES WALLINGFOKD. 

The fourth letter, to my astonishment, bore the signature of John 
Wallingford, and the date of Albany. He had got this far on hia 
way home, and written me a line to let me know the tact. 1 cop^ 
his epistle in full, viz.: . j 

“Dear Miles,— Here 1 am, and sorry am 1 to see, by the 
papers, there 5 ’^ou are still. Hecollect, my d^ar boy, that sugar will 
melt. It is time you were ofl; this is said for your own sake, and. 
not for mine, as you well know I am amply secured Still, the 
markets may fall, and he who is liist in them can wait for a rise, 
while he who is last must take what offers. 

“ Above all. Miles, do not take it into your head to alter your 
will. Thinss are now arranged between us precisely as they shouhl 
be, and 1 hate changes. 1 am your heir, and you are mine. Your 
counsel, Richard Harrison, Esquire, is a man of great respectabil- 
ity, and a perfectly safe repository of such a secret, I leave many 
of my papers in his hands, and he has now been my counsel ever 
since 1 had need of one, and treads so hard on Hamilton’s heels that 
the last sometimes feels his toes. This is as counsel, however, and 
not as an advocate. ^ ♦ 

“ Adieu, my dear boy: weare’botli Wallingford?, and the near- 
est of kin to each other, of the name, Clawbonny will be safe with, 
either of us, and either ot,us will be sate with Olawbonn}’-, 

“ Your affectionate cousin, 

“ John Wallingford.” 

1 confess that all this anxiety about Clawbonny began to aive me 
some uneasiness, and that 1 often wished 1 had been less ambitious, 
or less hasty, would be the better word, and had been content to go 
to sea again, in my simple character of shipmaster, and ship-owner, 
leaving the merchant to those who better understood the vocation. 

1 now went to the boat, and to the ship. Marble was all ready 
for me, and in ten minutes the anchor was clear of the bottom; in 
ten more, it was catted and fished, and the “ Dawn ” was beating 
down the bay, on a young flood, wdth a liaht breeze at south-west. 
The pilot being in charge, 1 had nothing to do but go below and 
write my letters. 1 answered everybody, even to the Secretary of 
State, who, at that time, was no less a man than James Madison. 
To him, however, 1 had nothing to say, but to acknowledge the 
receipt of the dispatches, and to promise to deliver them. My let- 
ter to Mr. Hardinge was, 1 hope, such as a son mifflit have Avritteu 
to a revered parent. In it, 1 begged he would allow me to add to 
his library, by a purchase of Iheological works of value, and which, 
in that day, could only be procured in Europe. This was to be his- 
memorial of my sister. 1 also begged of his friendship an occasional 
look at Clawbonny, though 1 did not venture to speak of the mort- 
gage, of which 1 now felt a sort of convidion he would not approve. 

The letter to John Wallingford, was as pithy as his own to me. 
1 told him ray will was made, on a conviction of its perfect pro- 
priety, and assured him it would not be altered in a hurry; 1 told 
him the sugars were safe, and let him understand that they were 
already on their way to Hamburg, whence 1 hoped, ere long, to 
send him a good account of dieir sale. 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


ns 


To Lucy, 1 was by no means so laconic. On the subject of the 
pearls of Grace, I beg^I:ed her to do just as she pleased; adding a 
request, however, that she would select such others of my sister’s 
ornaments, as might be most agreeable to herself. On this point 1 
was a little earnest, since the pearls were not worth the sum Grace 
had mentioned to me; and 1 felt persuaded Lucy would not wish 
me to remain her debtor. There was a pair of bracelets, in particu- 
lar, that Grace had highly prized, and which were very pretty in 
themselves. My father bad purchased the stones — rubies of some 
beauty — in one of his voyages, for my mother, who had fancied 
them too showy for her to wear. 1 had caused them to be set for 
Grace, and they would make a very suitable ornament for Lucy; 
and were to be so much the more prized, from the circumstance that 
Grace had once worn them, it is true, they contained a little, though 
very little of my hair; for on this Grace had insisted; but this hair 
was rather a blemish, and might easily be removed. 1 said as much 
in my letter. 

On the subject of my sister’s death, 1 found it impossible to write 
much. The little 1 did say, however, was in full accordance with 
her own feelings, I felt persuaded, and 1 had no difhciilty in believ- 
ing she would sjunpathize in all I did express, and in much that 1 
had not words to express. 

On the subject of the .necklace, 1 did find language to communi- 
cate a little, though it was done in the part of the letter where a 
woman is said to give her real thoughts — the postscript. In answer 
to what Lucy had said on the subject of my own necklaqe, 1 wrote 
as follows, viz: — “ You speak of my reserving the more valuable 
pearls for one, who, at some future day, may become my rvife. I 
confess this was my own intention, originally; and very pleasant 
was it to me to fancy that one so dear wmuld wear pearls that had 
been brought up out of the sea by my own hands. But, dearest 
Lucy, all these agreeable and delusive anticipations have vanished. 
Depend on it, 1 shall never marry. 1 know that declarations of this 
sort, in young men of three-and-twenty, like those of maidens of 
nineteen, excite a smile oftener than they prodirce belief; but I do 
not say this without reflection, and, 1 may add, without feeling. 
She whom I once did hope to persuade to marry me, although much 
my friend, is not ficcustomed to view me with the eyes that lead to 
love. We were brought together under cii'cumstauces that have 
probably induced her tO regard me more as a brother than as a 
suitor, and while the golden moments have passed awmy, her affec- 
tions have become the property of another. 1 resemble, in this par - 
ticular at least, our regretted Grace, and am not likely to change. 
My nature may be sterner, and my constitution stronger,^ than those 
of my poor sister proved to be, but 1 feel i can not love twice; not 
as 1 have, and still do love, most ceitainly. Why should 1 trouble 
you with all this, however ? I know you will not accept of the neck- 
lace— though so ready to give me your own last piece of gold, when 
1 went to sea, you liave ever been so fastidious as to refuse every- 
thing from us that had the least appearance of a pecuniary obliga- 
tiou — and it is useless to say more about it. 1 have no right to 
trouble you with my griefs, especially at a moment wdien 1 know 
your affectionate heart is suffering so deeply from our recent loss.’' 


114 


MILES AVALLIiTGFORD. 

1 will confess that, while writing this, 1 fancied 1 was making a 
sort of half declaration to Luc}'; on^ that might, at least, give her 
some taint insight into the real state c?f 1113 '^ heart ; and I had a mel- 
ancholy satisfaction in thinking that the dear girl might, by these 
means, learn how much I had prized and still did prize her. It was 
only a week later, while pondering over what I had written, the idea 
occurred to me that every sylJable I had said would apply just as 
well to Emily Merton as to Lucy Hardinge. Peculiar circumstances 
had made me intimately acquainted with our young English friend, 
and these circumstances might well have produced the very results 
1 had mentioned. We all believed Emily’s aftections to be engaged 
to Rupert, who must have succeeded during my absence at sea. A 
modest and self distrusting nature, like that of Lucy’s, would be 
very apt to turn to any other than hereelf in quest of the original of 
my picture. 

These letters occupied me for hours. That to Lucy, in particular, 
was very long, and it was not written wholly without care. When 
all were done, and sealed, and enveloped to the address of the post- 
master, 1 went on deck. The pilot and Marble had not been idle 
while I had been below, for 1 foirad the ship just weathering the 
south-west spit, a position that enabled me to make a fair wind of 
it past the Hook and out to sea. 

Certainl}^ 1 was in no haste to quil home! 1 was leaving my na- 
tive land, Clawbonny, the grave of my sister, and Lucy, dearest 
Lucy, all behind me; and, at such an instant one feels the ties that 
are about to be separated. Still, every seaman is anxious for an 
offing, and glad was 1 to see the head o? the “ Dawn ” pointing in 
the right direction, with her .yards nearly square, and a fore-topmast 
studding-sail set. The pilot was all activity, and Marble, cool, 
clear-headed in his duty, and instinctively acquainted with every- 
thing belonging to a vessel, was just the man to carry out his views 
to his heart’s content. 

The ship went, rising and falling on the swells of the ocean, that 
now began to make themselves felt, past the light and the low point 
of the Hook, within a lew minutes aher We bad squared away, and, 
once more, the open ocean lay before us, I could not avoid smil- 
ing at Neb, just as we opened the broad waste qf waters, and got 
an unbroken view of the rolling ocean to the southward. The fel- 
low was on the main-topsail yard, having jhst run out, and laShed. 
the heel of a topgallant studding-sail boom, in order to set the sail. 
Before he lay in to the mast, he raised his herculean frame, and 
took a look to windward. His eyes opened, his nostrils dilated, and 
1 fancied he. resembled a hound that, scented game in the gale, as he 
snuffed the sea air which came fanning his glistening face, filled 
with the salts and peculiar flavors of the ocean. 1 question it Neb 
thought at all of Chloe for the next hour or two! 

As soon as we got over the bar, 1 gave the pilot my package, and 
he got into his boat. It was not necessary to shorten sail in order 
to do this, for the vessel’s way did not exceed five knots. 

Do you see the sail, hereavvay in the south-eastern board?” said 
the pilot, as he M^ent over the side, pointing toward a white speck 
on the ocean; “take care of that fellow, and give him as wide a 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 115 

berth as possible, or he may give you a look at Halifax or Ber- 
muda.” 

” Halifax or Bermuda! 1 have nothing to do with either, and shall 
not go there. Why should 1 tear that sail?” 

” On account of your cargo, and on account of your men. That 
is his Majesty’s ship ‘ Leander;’ she has been off liere, now, more 
than a w^^ek. The inward-bound craft say she is acting under some 
new orders, and they name several vessels t,hat have been seen 
heading north-east alter she had boarded them. This new war is 
likely to lead to new troubles on the coast, and it is well for all out- 
ward-bound ships to be on the lookout.” 

“ His Majesty’s ship ” was a singular expression for an American 
to use, toward any sovereign, twenty years after the independence 
of the country was acknowledged. But it was common then, nor 
has it ceased entirely even among the newspapers of the present 
hour; so much harder is it to substitute a new language than to pro- 
duce a revolution. Notwithstanding this proof of bad taste in the 
pilot, 1 did not disregard his caution. There had been certain un- 
pleasant rumors up in town for more than a month, that the two 
great belligerents would be apt to push each other into the old ex- 
cesses, England and France at that day having such a monopoly of 
the ocean as to render them somewhat independent of most of the 
old-fashioned notions of the rights of neutrals. As for America, 
she was cursed with the cant of economy— an evil that is apt to pro- 
duce as many bad consequences as the opposite vice, extravagance. 
The money paid as interest on the suras expended in the war of 
1812, might have maintained a .navy that would have caused both 
belligerents to respect her rights, and thereby saved the principal 
entirely, to say nothing of all the other immense losses dependent 
on an interrupted trade; but demagogues were at work with their 
raven throats, and it is not reasonable to expect that the masses can 
draw very just distinctions on the subject of remote interests, when 
present expenditure is the question immediately before them. It is 
true, 1 remember a modern French logician, who laid down the 
dogma that the tendency of democracies being to excesses, if you 
give a people fhe power, they would tax themselves to death ; but, 
however true i.'iis theory may be in the main, it certainly is not true 
quoad the good citizens of the great model republic. It was bad 
enough to be accursed with a spurious ecoiiv.'Miy; but this was not 
the heaviest grievance that then weighed upon the national interests. 
The demon of faction — party spirit — was actively at work in the 
country; and it was almost as rare to find a citizen who was influ- 
enced purely by patriotic and just views, as ii. would be to find an 
honest man in t he galleys. The nation, as a rule, was either English 
or French. Some swore by the First Consul, and some by Billy 
Pitt. As for the commercial towns, taken in connection with the 
upper classes, these were little more than so many reflections of En- 
glish feeling, exaggerated and rendered still more factitious by dis- 
tance. Those who did not swallow all that the English lories chose 
to pour down their throats, took the pillules Hapoleons without 
gagging. If there were exceptions, they were very few, and prin- 
cipally among traveled men — pilgrims who, by approaching the 
respective idols, had discovered they were made by human hands! 


116 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


Impressment at sea, and out of neutral vessels, was revived, as a 
matter of course, with the renewal of the war, and all American 
ships felt the expedienc}’’ ot avoiding cruisers that might deprive 
them of their men. Strange as it may seem, a large and leading 
class of Americans justified this claim of the English, as it was prac- 
ticed on board their own country’s vessels! What will not men de^ 
fend when blinded and excited by faction? As this practice was to 
put the mariner on the defensive and to assume that every man was 
an Englishman who could not prove, out on the ocean, a thousand 
miles from land perhaps, that he was an American, it followed that 
English navy officers exercised a jurrsdiction over foreigners and 
under a foreign flag, that would not be tolerated in the Lord High 
Chancellor himself, in one of the streets of London; that of throw- 
ing the burden of proving himself innocent, on the accused party! 
There was an abundance of other principles that were just as ob- 
vious, and just as unanswerable as this, which were violated by the 
daily practices of impressment, but they all produced no effect on 
the members of Congress and public writers that sustained the right 
of the English, who as blindly e8po,used one side ot the main ques- 
tion as their opponents espoused the other. Men acting under the 
guidance of factious are not compos mentis: 

I think 1 may say, without boasting unreasonably of my own 
good sense, that ! have l^*pt myself altogether aloof from the vor- 
tex of parties, from boyhood to tiie present hour. My father had 
been a federalist, but a federalist a good <leal cooled ofi, from hav- 
ing seen foreign countries, and no attempts had ever been made to 
make me believe that black was White in the interest ot either fac- 
tion. I knew that impressment from foreign vessels, out of the 
waters of Great Britain at least, could be defended on no other ground 
but that of pow’^er; and as for colonial produce, and all the subtle- 
ties that were dependent on its transportation, fancied that a-neu- 
tral had a perfect right to purchase of one belligerent and sell to 
another, provided be found it his interest so to do, and he violated 
no positive — not paper — blockade, or did not convey articles that are 
called contraband of war. AVith these views, then, it is not surpris- 
ing that 1 easily came into the pilot’s opinion, and determined to 
give the “ Leander” a sufficient berth, as sailors express it. , 

The “ Leandbr” was a fifty, on two decks, a very silly sort of a 
craft, though she had manfully played her part at the Nile, and on 
one or twm other rattier celebrated occasions, and wafe a good vessel 
of the build. Still 1 felt certain the “ Dawii ” could get awaj’^ from 
her under tolerably favorable circumstances. The . “ Leander ” 
afterward became notorious, on the American coast, in consequence 
of a man killed in a coaster by one of her shot, within twenty miles 
of tlie spot where 1 now saw her, an event that had its share in 
awakening the feeling that produced the war of 1812 — a war of 
which the effects are just beginning to be made manifest in the pol- 
icy of the republic; a fact, by the way, that is little understood at 
home or abroad. The “ Leander ” was a fast ship of her kind, but 
the “ Dawn ” was a fast ship of any kind, and 1 had great faith in 
her. It is true, the fifty had the advantage ot the wind, but she w^asa 
long way oft, well to the southward, and might have something in 


MILES WALLIIIGFORD. 117 

sight that could not L-e seen even from our topgallant yards, whither 
'Neb was sent to take a look ai the horizon. 

Our plan was soon laid. The south side ot Long Island tending 
a little to the north of east, 1 ordered the ship to be steered east-by- 
south, which, with the wind at south-south-west, gave me an oppor- 
tunity to carry all our studding-sails. The soundings were as regu- 
lar as the ascent on the roof of a shed, or on that of a graded lawn, 
and the land in sight less than two leagues distant, lii this manner 
we ran down the coast, wdth about six .knots’ way on the ship„ as 
soon as we got from under the Jersey shore. 

In less than an hour, or when we* were about four leagues from 
Sandj'^ Hook light, the Englishman were short round, and made 
sail to cut us off. By this time he was just forward of our weather- 
beam, a position that did not enable him to carry studding-sails on 
botli sides, for had he kept off enough for this be would have fallen 
into our wake, while, by edging away to close with us. his after- 
sails De«almed the forward, and this at the moment wdien every- 
thing of ours pulled like a team of well-broken cart-horses. Not- 
withstanding all tins we had a nervous afternoon’s and night’s work 
of it. These old fifties are great travelers off the wdnd; and more 
than once 1 fancied the “ Leander ” was going' to lay across iny 
bows, as she did athwart those ot the Frenchman at the Nile. The 
“ Dawn,” however, was not idle, and as the wind stood all that 
day; throughout the night, and was fresher, though more to the 
southward than it had hitherto been, next morning, ! had the satis- 
faction of seeing Montauk a little on my lee-bow, at sunrise, while 
my pursuer was still out of gunshot on mj*^ weather-beam. 

Marble and I now held a consultation on the subject of the best 
mode of proceeding. 1 was half disposed to let the ” Leander ” come 
up, and send a boat on board us. What had vve to fear? We wmre 
bound to Hamburg with a careo, one half of which came from. the 
English, while the other half came from the French islands. But 
what of that? Marble, however, wmuld not listen to such a project. 
He affirmed that he was a good pilot in all the sounds, and that it 
would be better to risk everything rather than let that fifty close 
with us. 

” Keep the ship away for Montauk, sir,” exclaimed the mate; 
” keep her away for Montauk, and let that chap follow us if he 
dared. There’s a reef or two inside that I’ll engage to lead him on, 
should he choose to try the game, and that will cure him ot his 
taste for chasing a Yankee.” 

” Will you ensage, Moses, to carry the ship over the shoals, it 1 
will do as you desire, and go inside?” 

” I’ll carry her into any port east of Block Island, Captain W'’al- 
lingtord. Though New York born, as it now turns out, I’m ‘ down- 
east ’ edicated, and have got a ‘ coasting pilot ’ of my own in mv 
head.” 

This settled the matter, and 1 came to the resolution to stand oa. 


118 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


CHAPTER XII. 

The wind blows fair, the vessel feels 

• The pressure of the rising breeze, 

And, swiftest of a thousand keels, 

She leaps to the careering seas. 

Willis. 

Half an hour later, things drew hear a crisis. We had been 
obliged to luff a litlle, in order to clear a reef that even Marble ad- 
mitted lay oft Montauk, while the “ Leander ” had kept quite as 
much away, with a view to close. This brought the fifty so near 
us, diiectly on our weather-beam, as to induce her commander to 
try the virtue of gunpowder. Her bow-gun was fired, and its shot, 
only a twelve-pounder, ricochetted until it fairly passed our fore-foot, 
distant a hundred yards, making its last leap from the water pre- 
cisely in a line with the stem of the “ Dawn.” This was unequiv- 
ocal evidence that the game could not last much longer, unless the 
space between the two vessels should be sensibly widened. Fortu- 
nately, we now opened Montauk fort, and the option was offered 
us of doubling that point, and entering the Sound, or of standing on 
toward Block Island, and putting the result on our heels. After a 
short consultation with Marble, 1 decided on the first. 

One of the material advantages possessed by a man-of-war in a 
chase with a merchant-vessel is in the greater velocity with which 
her crew can make or take in sail. 1 knew that the moment we be- 
gan to touch our braces, tacks and sheets, that the “ Leander ” 
would do the same, and that she would effect her object in halt the 
time in which we could effect ours. Nevertheless, the thing was 
to be done, and we set about the preparations with care and assi- 
duity. It was a small matter to round in our weather-braces, until 
the yards were nearly square, but the rigging-out of her studding- 
sail. booms, and the setting of the sails, was a job to occupy the 
“ Dawn’s ” people several minutes. Marble suggested that by edg- 
ing gradually away, we should bring the “ Leander ” so tar on our 
quarter as to cause the after-sails to conceal what w^e were about 
forward, and that w'e might steal a march on our pursuers by adopt- 
ing this precaution. 1 thought the suggestion a good one, and the 
necessary orders were given to can*}' it out. 

Any one might be certain that the Englishman's glasses w^ere lev- 
eled on us the whole time. Some address was used, therefore, in 
managing to get our yards in without showing the people at the 
braces. This was done by keeping off first, and then b}’’ leading 
the ropes as far forward as possible, and causing the men to haul on 
them, seated on deck. In this manner we got oui yards nearly 
square, or as much in as our new course required, when w’^e sent 
, hands aloft, forward, to get out the lee booms. But we reckoned 
without our host. John Bull w^as not to be caught in that w’ay. 
The hands were hardly in the lee fore- rigging, before 1 saw the fifty 
falling off fo our course her yards squared, and signs aboard her 
that she had larboard studding-sails as w^dl as ourselves. The change 


119 


MILES AVALLINGFORD. 

of course had one good effect, however; it brought our pursuer so 
far on our quarter, >liat, standing at the capstan, I saw him through 
the mizzen-riggiog. This took the “ Dawn ” completely from under 
the “ Leander’s " broadside, leaving us exposed to merely four or 
five of her forward guns, should she see tit to use them. Whether 
the English were reluctant to resort to such very decided means of 
■ anno 3 'ance, so completel}'^ within the American waters, as we were 
clearly getting to be, or whether thej" had so much conlidence in 
their speed, as to feel no necessity for firing, I never knew; but 
they did not have any further recourse to shot. 

As might have been foreseen, the fifty had her extra canvas 
spread some time before we could open ours, and 1 fancied she 
showed the advantage thus -obtained in her rate of sailing. She 
certainly closed with us, though we closed much .faster with the 
land; still, there was imminent danger of her overhauling us be- 
fore we could round the point, unless some decided step were 
promptly taken to avoid it. 

“ On the whole, Mr. Marble,” 1 said, after my mate and mj^self 
had taken a long and thoughtful look at the actual state of things — 
“on the whole, Mr. Marble, it may be well to take in our light 
sails, haul our wind, and let the man-of-war come up with us. We 
are honest folk, and there is little risk in his seeing all that we have 
to show him.” 

“ Never think of it,” cried the mate. “ After this long pull, the 
fellow will be as savage as a bear with a sore head. He’d not leave 
a hand on board us, that can take his trick at the wheel; and it’s 
ten chances to one that he would send the ship to Halifax, under 
some pretext or other, that the sugars are not sweet enough, or that 
the coffee was grown in a French island, and tastes French. No- 
no — Captain Wallingford — here’s the wind at sou’-sou'-west, and, 
we’re heading nothe-east and by nothe-half-nothe already, with that 
fellow abaft the mizzen-riggin’; as soon as we get a p’int more to 
the nor’ard, we’ll have him fairly in our wake.” 

“ Ay, that will do very well as a theory, but what can we make 
of it in practice? We are coming up toward Montauk at the rate 
of eight knots, and you have told me yourself there is a reef off 
.that point, directly toward wnich we must this moment be standing. 
At this rale, fifteen minutes might break us up into splinters.” 

1 could see‘that Marble was troubled, by the manner in which he 
rolled his tofcacco about, and the riveted gaze he kept on the water 
ahead. 1 had the utmost confidence in his searaanlike prudence and 
discretion, while I knew he was capable of suggesting anjdhing a 
ship could poasibly perform, in an emergency that called for such 
an exercise of decision. At that moment, he forgot our present re- 
lations, and went back, as he often did when excited, to the days of 
our greater equality and more trying scenes. 

“Harkee, Miles,"” he said, “the reef is dead ahead of us, but 
there is a passage between it and the point. 1 went through that 
passage in the Revvylution war, in chase ot an English West 
Injyman, and stood by the lead the whole way myself. Keep her 
away. Neb — keep her away, another p’int: so— stead}’’— very 
well, dyice ” (anglice, thus)~“ keep her so, and let John Bull fol- 
low u5, if he dare.” 


1-20 


.MILES WALLi^'GFOKD. 


“ \ou shonltl be very sure of your channel, Mr. Marble,” 1 said 
gravel 3 L “ to take so much responsibility on yourself. Remember 
my all is embarked in this ship, and the insurance ill not be worth 
a sixpence if we are lost runnins through such a place as this in 
broad daylight. Reflect a moment, 1 beg of you, if not certain of 
what you do.” 

“ And what will the insurance be worth, ag’in Halifax, or Ber- 
muda? I’ll put my life on the chimnel, and would care more for 
your ship. Miles, than my own. If you love me, stand on, and let 
us see if that lubberly make-believe two-decker dare follow.” 

Twas fain to comply, though 1 ran a risk that 1 find it impossible 
now to justify to myself. T had my Cousin John Wallingford’s 
property in charge, as well as ray own, or what was quite as bad, 1 
placed Clawbonny in imminent jeopardy. Still, my feelings were 
aroused, and to the excitement of a race were added the serious but 
vague apprehensions all American seamen felt, in that day, of the 
great belligerents. It is a singular proof of human justice, that the 
very consequences of these apprehensions are made matter of re- - 
proacli against them. 

It is not my intention to dwell further on the policy of England 
and France, during their great contest tor superiority, than is neces- 
sary to the nai’rative of events connected with my own adventures; 
but a word in behalf of American seamen in passing may not be en- 
tirely out of place or season. Men are seldom wronged without 
being calumniated, and the body of men of which 1 was then one 
did not escape that sort of reparation for all the grievances they en- 
dured, which is dependent on demonstrating that the injured de- 
served their sufferings. We have been accused of misleading En- 
glish cruisers by false information, of being liars to an unusual 
degree, and of manifesting a irraspiug love of gold, beyond the 
ordinary cupidity of man. Now 1 will ask our accusers if it were 
at all extraordinary that they who felt themselves daily aggrieved, 
should resort to the means within their power to avenge themselves? 
As for veracity, no one who has reached my present time of life, 
can be ignorant that truth is the rarest thing in the world, noi are 
those who have been the subjects of mystifications got up in the 
payment for wrongs supposed or real, the most impartial judges of 
character or facts. As for the charge of an undue love of money, it 
is unmerited. Money will do less in America than in any other 
country of ray acquaintance, and infinitely less than in either 
France or England. 

There is truth in this accusation, as applied either to a particular 
class or to the body of the American people, only in one respect. It 
is undeniable that, as a new nation, with a civilization that is want- 
ing in so many of its higher qualities, while it is already so far ad- 
vanced in those which form the basis of national greatness, money 
does not meet with the usual competition among us. The institu- 
tions, too, by dispensing with hereditary consideration, do away 
with a leading and prominent source of distinction that is known 
to other systems, thus iriving to riches an exclusive importance, that 
is rather apparent, however, than real. 1 acknowledge that little- 
or no consideration is yet given among us to any of the more intel- 
lectual pursuits, the greak bulk of the nation regarding literary men.. 


MILES -WALLINGFORD. 


121 


artists, even professional men, as so many pubH'? servants, that are 
to be used like any other servants, resop'^^^'S them and their huors 
only as they can contribute to ^ stock of national wealth and 

renown. This is owino- ^he youth o a country in which 

mo«;f of the foundation was so recently to be laid, and in 

, . --C circumstance that men bein;; under none of the facti- 

CTOiis restraints of other systems, coarse and vulyar-minded de- 
claimers make themselves heard and felt to a degree that would not 
be tolerated elsewhere. 

Notwithstanding all these defects, which no intelligent, and least 
of all, no traveled American should or can jiistlj^ deny, 1 will 
maintain that gold is not one tittle more the goal of the American 
than it is of the native of'^other activ^e and energetic communities. 
It is true, there is little besides gold, just now, to aim at in this coun- 
try, but the great number of young men who devote themselves to 
letters and the arts, under sucli unfavorable circumstances, a number 
greatly beyond the knowledge of foreign nations, proves it is cir- 
cumstances, and not the groveling propensities of the people them- 
selves, that give gold a so nearly undisputed ascendency. The 
great numbers who devote tnemselves to politics among us. certainly 
anything but a money making pursuit, proves that it is principally 
the want of other avenues to distinction that renders gold apparent- 
ly the sole aim of American existence. To return from this touch 
of philosophy to our ships. 

The progress of the “ Dawn ” soon left us no choice in the course 
to be steered. We could see by the charts that the reef was already 
outside of us, and there was now no alternative between going 
ashore, or going through IMarble’s channel. We succeeded in the 
last, gaining materially on the “ Leander ” by so doing, the En- 
glishman hauling his wind when he thought himself as near to the 
danger as was prudent, and giving up the chase. 1 ran on to the 
northward an hour longer, when, finding our pursuer was hull 
down to the southward and westward, 1 look m our larboard stud- 
ding-sails, and brought the ship b\' the wind, passing oat to sea 
again, to the eastward of Dlock Island. 

Great was the exultation on board the “ Dawn ” at this escape, 
for escape it proved to be. Next morning, at sunrise, we saw a sail 
a long distance to the westward, which we supposed to be the 
“Leander,” but she did not give chase. .Marble and the people 
were delighted at having given John Bull the slip, while 1 learned 
caution from the occurrence, determining not to let another vessel- 
of-war get near-enough to trouble me again, could 1 possibly pre- 
vent it. 

From this tiiue, for twenty days, the passage of the “ Dawn 
had nothing unusual. lYe crossed the Banks in forty-six, and made 
as straight a course for the western extremity of England as the 
wind woi^ld allow. Eor several days I was uncertain whether to go 
norlh-about or not, believing that I should fall in with fewer cruisers 
by doubling Scotland than by running up Channel. The latter was 
SO much the nearest route, thougli so much depends on the winds 
that I determined to let these last govern. Until we had made two- 
thirds of our distance across the ocean, the winds had stopped very 
much at south-west, and though we had no heavy weather, our 


122 


MILES WALLIMGEOKD. 


I 


progress was goori; but in twenty degrees east from Greenwich, JyG 
got north-easters, and o., best tack being the larboard, 1 stood fbl 

ten days to the southward anu This brought us into the 

track of everything going to or cou,-^„ f 

and, had we stood on far enough, we sho™“ d n i ! 

somewhere in the Bay of Biscay. I knew we shoufa^^L , 
dotted with English cruisers, however, as soon as we 
European waters, and we tacked to the north-west, when about a 
hundred leagues from the land. 

The thirty-third day out proved one of great import ance to me. 
The wind had shifted to south-west, and it was blowing fresh, with 
very thick weather — lain'mingled with a fine mist, that often pre- 
vented one’s seeing a quarter of a mile from the ship. The change 
occurred at midnight, and there was every prospect of the wind’s 
standing until it shoved us into the chops of the Channel, from 
which we were then distant about four hundred miles, according to 
my own calculation. Marble had the watch at four o’clock, and he 
" sent for me, that 1 might decide on the course to be steered and the 
sail to be carried. The course worS north-north-east; but, as for the 
sail, 1 determined to stand on under our topsails and fore-course, 
spanker and jib, until 1 could get a look by daylight. When the 
sun was fairly up, there was no change, and .1 gave orders to get 
along some ot the larger studding-sails, and to set the main-topgal- 
lant-sail, having my doubts whether the spars would bear any more 
canvas, under the stiff breeze that was blowing. 

“ This is no great distance from the spot where we surprised the 
‘ Lady of Nantes,’ Captain Wallingford,’^ Marble observed to me, 
as 1 stood overlooking the process of bending a foretopmast stud- 
ding-sail, in which he was engaged with his own hands; “ nor was 
the weather any thicker then than it is now, though that was a 
haze, and this is a mist.” 


. “You are outot your longiiude a few hundred miles, Master 
Moses, but the comparison is well enough otherwise. We have twice 
the wind and sea we had then, moreover, and that was dry weather, 
while this is, to speak more gingerly, a little moist.” 

“ Ay, ay, sir; there is just that difference.. Them Were pleasant 
days. Captain Wallingford. 1 say nothing ag’in these; but them 
’ere were pleasant times, as all in the ‘ Crisis ’ must allow.” 


“ Perhaps we shall think the same of these some five or six years 
hence.” 

*■ Well, that’s natur’, I must confess. It’s amazing how the last 
v’yage hangs in a man’s memory, and how little we think of the 
present! 1 suppose the Lord made us all of this disposiiion, for it’s 
sartain we all manifest it. Come, bear a hand. Neb, on that foie- 
yard, and let us see the length ot the stun-sail boom.” 

But Neb, contrary to his habits, stood upright on the yard, hold- 
ing on by the lift, and looking over the weather-leach of the topsail, 
apparently at some object that either was just then visible, or which 
had just before been visible. 

“ What is it?” cried Marble, struck with the black’s attitude aiid 
manner. “ What d’ye see?” 

“ 1 don’t see him now, sir; nuttin’ now; but dere was a ship.” 

“ Whereaway?” 1 demanded. 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 123^ 

“ Off here, Masser Mile — larboard bow, well forrard; look sharp, 
and soon see him yourselt, sir.” 

Sharp enough we did look, all hands of us on deck, and, in less 
than a minute, we caught a pretty good view of the stranger froin 
the forecastle. He might have been visible to us halt a minute, in 
one of those momentary openings in the mist, that were constantly 
occurring, and which enabled the eye to command a range around 
the ship ot half a mile, losing it again, however, almost as soon as it 
was obtained. Notwithstanding the distance ot time, 1 can perfectly 
recall the appearance ot that vessel, seen as she was, for a moment 
only, and seen too so unexpectedly. It was a frigate, as frigates 
then were; or a ship of that medium size between a heav}’ sloop-of- 
war and a two-decker, which, perhaps, offers the greatest propor- 
tions for activity and force. We plainly saw her cream-colored, or 
as it is more usual to term it, her yellow streak, dotted with four- 
teen ports, including the bridle, and gleaming brightly in contrast 
to the dark and glistening hull, over which the mist and the spray 
of the ocean cast a species of somber luster. The stranger was 
under his three topsails, a spanker, and jib, each of the former sails 
being double-reefed. His courses were in the brails. As the wind 
did not blow hard enough to bring a vessel of any size to more 
than one reef, even on a bowline, this short canvas proved that the 
frigate was on her cruising-ground, and was roaming about in quest 
of anything that might offer. This was just the canvas to give a 
cruiser a wicked look, since it denoted a lazy preparation, which 
might, in an instant, be improved into mischief. As all cruising 
Tessels, when on their stations doing nothing, reef at night, and the 
hour was still early, it was possible w^e had made this ship before 
her captain, or firat lieutenant, had made his appearance on deck. 
There she was, at all events, dark, lustrous, fair in her proportions, 
her yards looming square and symmetrical, her canvas damp, but 
stout and new, the copper bright as a tea-kettle, resembling a new* 
cent, her hammock-cloths with the undress appearance this part of 
a vessel of war usually offers at night, and her quarter-deck aipd 
forecastle guns frowning through the lanyards of her lower rigging 
like so many slumbering bull-dogs muzzled in their kennels. 

The frigate was on an easy bowline, or, to speak more correctly, 
was standing directly across our fore-foot, with her yards nearly 
square. In a few minutes, each keeping her present course, the two 
ships would have. passed within pistol-shot ot each other. 1 scarce 
knew the nature of the sudden impulse which induced me to call 
out to the man at the wheel lo starboard his helm. It was probably 
from instinctive apprehensidh that it were better for a neutral to have 
as little to do with a belligerent as possible, mingled with a present! 
ment that 1 might lose some of my people by impressment. Call 
out I certainly did, and the “ Dawn’s ” own bows came up to the 
wind, looking to the westward, or in a direction contrary to that in 
which the frigate was running, as her yards were square, or nearly 
so. As soon as the weather-leeches touched, the helm was righted, 
and away we went with the wind abeam, with about as much 
breeze as we wanted for the sail we carried. 

The " Dawn ” might have been half a mile to windward of the 
irigate when this maneuver was put into execution. We were 


124 MILES VVALL1:N"GF0RD. 

altogether ignorant whether our own ship had been seen, but the 
view we got of the stranger satisfied us that he was. an Englishman. 
Throughout the whole of the long wars that succeeded the French 
Revolution, the part of tlie ocean which lay off the chops of the 
Channel was vigilantly watched by tlje British, and it was seldom, 
indeed, a vessel could go over it, wiiliout meeting more or less of 
their cruisers. 

1 was not without a hope that the two ships would pass each other 
without our being seen. The mist became very thick just as we 
hauled Up, and had this change of course taken place after we were 
shut in, the chances were greatly in favor of its being effected. 
Once distant a mile from the fiigate, there was little danger of her 
getting a glimpse of us, since, throughout all that morning, 1 was 
satisfied we had not got a horizon witli that much of diameter. 

As a m’atter of course the preparations with the studding-sails were 
suspended. Iseb was ordered to lay aloft, as high as the cross-trees, 
and to keep a vigilant lookout, while all eyes on deck were watch- 
ing as anxiously in the mist, as we had formerly watched for the 
shadowy outline of “La Dame' de Nantes.” Marble’s, long ex- 
perience told him best where to look, and he caught the next 
view of the frigate. She wras diiectly under our lee, gliding easily 
along under the same canvas; the reefs still in. the courses in the 
biails, and the spanker rolled up, as it had been for the 'night. 

“By George,” cried the male, “all them Johnny Bulls are still 
asleep, and they haven’t seen us!. It we can give this fellow the 
slip, as we did the old ‘ Leantler,’ Captain Wallingford, -the ‘ Dawn ’ 
will become as famous as the ‘ Flying Dutchman!’ See, there he 
jogs on as if goimr to mill or to church, and no more stir aboard him 
than there is in a Quaker meetin’l How my good old 'soul of a 
mother would enjoy this!” 

There the frigate went, sure enough, without the smallest sign 
of any alarm having been given on board her. The vessels had 
actually passed each other, and the rnifet was thickening again. 

Presently the veil was drawn, and the form of that beaiiUful ship 
was entirely hidden from sight. Marble rubbed his hand with de- 
light, and all our people began to joke'at the expense of the En- 
glishman. “If a merchantman could see a man-of-war,” it was 
justly enough said, “ a man-of-war ought certainly to see a mer- 
chantman.” Her lookouts must have all been asleep, or it would 
not have been possible for us to pass so near, und^r the canvas we 
carried, and escape undiscovered. Most of the “Dawn’s” cr6w 
were native Americans, though there were four or five Europeans 
among them. Of these last, one was certainly an Englishman, and, 
as 1 suspected, a deserter from a public ship; and the oilier, beyond 
all controversy, was a plant of the Emerald Isle. These two men 
were particularly delighted, though well provided with those vera- 
cious documents called protections—which, like beggars’ certificates 
never told anything but truth, though, like beggars’ -certificates, 
they not unfrequently fitted one man as well as another. It w'as the 
well-established laxity in the character of this testimony, that gave 
the English officers something . like a plausible pretext for disre- 
garding all evidence in the premises. Their mistake w\as in sup- 
posing they had a right to make a man prove anything on board a 


MILES WALLIXGFOKD. 


135 


foreign ship; while that of America was, in permitting her citizens^ 
to be arraigned before foreign judges, under any conceivable cirgum- 
stances. If England wanted her own men, let her keep them with- 
in her own jurisdiction, not attempt to follow them into the jurisdic- 
tion of neutral states. 

Well, the shin had passed; and 1 began myself to fancy that we 
were quit of a troublesome neighbor, wiien Neb came down the rig- 
ging, in obedience to an order from the mate. 

“ Relieve the wheel, Master Clawbonny.” said Marble, who often 
gave the negro his patronymic; “ we ma}^ want some of your 
touches, before we reach the foot of the dance. Which way was 
John Bull traveling when you last saw him?” 

” He goin’ eastward, sir.” Neb was never half as much ” nig- 
ger ” at sea, as when he was on shore— there being something in his 
manly calling that raised him nearer to the dignity of white men. 
” But, sir, he was gettin’ his people ready to make sail.” 

How do you know that? No such thing, sir; all hands were 
asleep, taking Iheir second naps.” 

“ Well, you see, Misser Marble; den you knmo sir.” 

Neb grinned as he said this; and 1 felt persuaded he had seen 
something that he understood, but which very possibly he could not 
explain; though it clearly indicated that John Bull was not asleep. 
We were not left long in doubt on this head. The mist opened 
again, and, distant from us about thr-ee quarters of a mile, bearing 
on our lee quarter, we got another look at lire frigate, and a look 
that satisfied everybody wdiat she was about. The Englishman was 
in stays, in the very act of hauling his head-yards, a certain sign he 
was a quick and sure-working fellow, since this maneuver had been 
performed against a smart sea, and under double reefed topsails. 
He must have made us, just as we lost sight of him, and was about 
to shake out his reefs. 

On this occasion, the frigate may have been visible from cur 
decks three minutes. 1 watched all her movements, as the cat 
watches the mouse. In the first place her reefs were shaken out, 
as the ship’s bows fell off far enougli to get the sea on theVight side 
of them, and her topsails appeared to me to be mast-headed by in- 
stinct, or as the bird extends its wings. The fore and niain-topg<d- 
laut-sails were fluttering in the breeze at this very moment— it blew 
rather too fresh for the mizzen — and then their bosoms were dis- 
tended, and their bowlines hauled. How the fore and main tacks 
got aboard 1 could not tell, tiiougb it was while my eyes were on 
the upper sails. 1 caught a glimpse of the fore-sheet, how^ever, as 
the clew was first dapping violently, and then was brought under 
the restraint of its own proper, powerful, purchase. The spanker had 
been hauled out previously, to help the ship in tacking. 

There was no mistaking all this. We w'ere seen, and chased; 
everything on board the frigate being instantly and accurately 
trimmed, ‘‘ full and by.” She looked up into our wake, and I knew 
must soon overtake a heavily-laden ship like the ” Dawn,” in the 
style in which she w'as woiked and bandied. Under the circum- 
stances, therefore, 1 motioned Marble' to follow me alt, where w^e 
consulted together touching our future proceedings. 1 coufess I 


126 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


w^is disposed to slioiten sail, and lei Ibe ciuisei come alongside; but 
Marble, us usual, was for bolding; on. 

“ We are bound to Hamburg,” saH tbe mate, “ wbicb lies, here- 
away, on oiir lee beam, and no man bas a right to complain of our 
steering our course. Tbe mist bas shut tbe frigate in again, and, 
it being very certain he will overhaul us on a bowline, 1 advise you. 
Miles, "to lay tbe yards perfectly, sg.uare, edge away, two points 
more, and set tbe weather stun’-sails. If we do not open John very 
soon again, we may be off three or four miles to leeward befoie be 
learns where we are, and then, you know, a ‘ stern chase ’ is always 
a ‘ long chase.' ” 

This^ was good advice, and 1 determined to follow it. It blew 
rather fresh at the instant, and the “Dawn” began to plunge 
through the seas at a famous rate as soon as she felt the drag of the 
studding-sails. 'We were now running on a course that made an 
■obtuse angle with that of the frigate, and there was the possibility 
of so far increasing our distance as to get beyond the range of the 
opening of the mist, ere our expedient was discovered. So long 
did the density of the atmosphere continue, indeed, that my hopes 
W'ere beginning to be strong, just as one of our people called out 
‘‘ The frigate!” This lime she was seen directly astern of us, and 
nearly two miles distant. Such had been our gain, that ten minutes 
longer would have carried us clear. As we now saw her, I felt cer- 
tain she would soon see us, eyes being on the lookout on board her, 
beyond a question. Nevertheless, the cruiser was still on a bowline, 
standing on the course on which we had been last seen.. 

Tliis lasted but a moment, however. Presently the Englishman’s 
how fell oft, and by the time he was dead before tbe wind, we could 
see his studding-sails, flapping in the air, as they were in the act of 
being distended, by means of halyards, tacks and sheets all going at 
once. The mist shut in the ship again before all this could be ex- 
ecuted. Wliat was to be done next? Marble said, as we were not 
on our precise course, it might serve a good turn to bring the wind 
on'our starboard quarter, set all the studding-sails we could carry 
on the same side, and run off east-north-east; 1 inclined to this 
opinion, and the necessary changes were made forthwith. The 
wind and ‘mist increased, and away we went, on a diverging line 
from the course of the Englishman, at the rate of quite ten"" knots in 
the hour. This lasted fully forty minutes, and all hands of us 
fancied wm had at last given the cruiser the slip. Jokes and chuck- 
ling flew about among the m n. as usual, and everybody began to 
feel as happy as success could make us, when the dark veil lifted at 
the south-west ; the sun was seen struggling through the clouds,, 
the vapor dispersed, and gradually the whole curtain which had 
ooncealed the ocean throughout that morning arose, extending the 
view around the ship, little by little, until nothing limited it but the 
natural horizon. 

The anxiety with which we watched this slow rising of the cur- 
tain need scarcel}^ be described. Every eye was turned eager! v in 
the direction in which its -owner expected to find the frigate, and 
great was our satisfaction as mile after mile opened in Uie circle 
around us, without bringing her beautiful proportions within its 
range. But this could not last forever, there hot being sufficient 


MILES WALLIJ^^GFOKD. 


127 

time to carry so large a vessel over the curvature of the ocean’s sur- 
face. As usual, Marble saw her first. She had fairly passed to lee- 
ward of us, and was quite two leagues distant, driving ahead with 
the speed of a race horse. With a clear horizon, an open ocean, a 
stift breeze, and hours of daylight, it was hopeless to attempt escape 
from as fast a vessel as the stranger, and now 1 determined to put 
the “ Dawn ” on her true course, 'and trust altogether to the good- 
ness of my cause; heels being out of the question. The reader who 
will do me the favor to peruse the succeeding chapter, will learn the 
result of this resolution. 


CHAPTER Xlll. 

Whom have we here? Buckingham, to cUsturh me? 

The king hath sent him, sure: I must dissemble. 

King Henry VI. 

At first the frigate took single reefs in her topsails, set topgallant- 
sails over them, and hauled up on taut bowlines. But seeing no 
signs of our studding-sails coming down she shook out her reefs, 
squared her yaids, set topmast studding-sails, and kept off to a 
course that would be certain to intercept us. She was up on our 
line of sailing some little time before we got down to her, and she 
kept standing off and on, hauling up her courses, and furling her 
topgallant-sails, and hauling down all of her light sails, the jib ex- 
cepled. As for the “ Dawn,” she kept steadily on, carrying every- 
thing she could bear. _ We had topmast and lower studding-sails, 
and not a tack or sheet had been touched when we got within a 
quarter of a mile of the frigate. The Englishman now showed his 
colors, when we let him see the stars and stripes. Still no sail was 
touched on board us. As if surprised at our obstinacy, John Bull 
let fly a chase-gun, taking good care not to send the shot very near 
us. 1 thought it time, now, to shorten sail and to pretend to see 
him. We began to haul down our studding-sails, merchant-fashion, 
and w-ere fairly alongside of the frigate before even this preliminary 
step to heaving-to was effected. As we approached, the frigate bore 
up, and ran off in company with us, keeping a hundred fathorns 
distance from us, and watching us closely. At this instant 1 or- 
dered the topgallant-sails settled on the caps, as a sign we intended 
to let him board us. 

At length, having reduced the sail to the three topsails, reefed, 1 
hove-to the “ Dawn,” and waited for a visit from the Englisfiman’s 
boat. As soon as the frigate saw* us fairly motionless she shot up 
on our weather quarter, halt a cable’s length distant, swung her 
long, saucy-lookiug yards, and lay- to herself. At the same instant 
her lee-quarter boat dropped into the water, with the crew in it, a. 
boy of a midshipman scrambled dowm the ship's side and entered it. 
also, a lieutenant followed, when away the cockle of a thing swmpt’ 
on the crest of a sea, and was soon pulling round under our stern. 

1 stood on the lee quarter, examining my visitors, as they struggled 
against the swell, in order to get a boat-hook into our main- chains. 
The men were like any other man-of-war’s men, neat, sturdy, and 
submissive in air. The reefer was a well-dressed boy, evidently ^ 
gentleman’s sou; but the lieutenant was one of those old weather- 


MILES WALLINGEORD. 


128 

beaten sea-dogs who are seldom employed in boats unless some- 
thing more than common is to be done. He was a man of forty, 
liard-teatured, pock-marked, red-faced, and scowlinc:. I afterward 
ascertained he was the son of some underling about the Portsmouth 
dockyard, who had worked his way up to a lieutenancy, and mved 
his advancement principally to his readiness in impressing seamen. 
His name was Sennit. 

We llirew Mr. Sennit a rope, as a matter of course, and IMarble 
met him at the gangway with the usual civilities. 1 was amused 
with the meeting between these men, who had strictly that analogy 
to each other which is well described as “ diamond cut diamond.” 
Each was dogmatical, positive, and full of nautical conceit, in his 
own tasbiou; and each hated the other’s country as heartil^^ as man 
could hate, while both despised Frenchmen. But Sennit knew a 
male from a master, at a glance; and, without noticing Marble’s 
sea-bow, a slight for w’hich Marble did not soon forgive him, he 
walked directly aft to me, not well pleased, as 1 thought, that a 
shipmaster had neglected to be at the gangw’ay to meet a sea lieu- 
tenant. 

“ Your servant, sir,” commenced Mr. Sennit, condescending to 
notice my bow; ” your servant, sir; 1 suppose W’e ow^e the pleasure 
of your company, just now, to the circumstance of the weather’s 
clearing.” 

This sounded hostile from the go off; and 1 was determined to 
give as good as I received. 

” Quiie likely, sir ” was my answer, uttered as coolly as 1 could 
speak— ” 1 do "not think you got much the advantage, as long as 
there was thick weather.” 

‘‘ Ay, you’re a famous fellow^ at hide and go seek, and 1 do not 
^dollht you W'ouhl make a loug chase in a dark night. But his 
Majesty’s ship ‘ Speedy ’ is riot to be dodged by a Y^ankee.” 

” So it would seem, sir, your present success.” 

” Men seldom run aw^ay without there is a cause for it. It’s my 
business to find out tlie reason why you have attempted it; so, sir, 
1 wi.l thank you for llie name of your ship, to begin with.” 

“ The ‘ Dawn,’ of New' York.” 

” Ay, full-blooded Y'ankee— I knew you were New England, by 
your tricks.” 

” New Y’oik is not in New England; nor do we call a New York 
ship ofY^ankee,” put in Ylarble. , 

. ” Ay, ay— if one were to believe all you mates from the t’other 
side say, he would soon fancy that King George held his throne 
by virtue of commission from President Washington.” 

“President Washington is dead, Heaven bless him!” retorted 
Marble, “ and if one were to believe half of what you English say 
he would soon fancy that President Jefferson held iiis offlce as one 
of King George’s wailing-men.” 

1 made a sign for Marble to be silent, and intimated to the lieu- 
tenant 1 was ready to answer any further inquiries he wished to 
make. Sennit did not proceed, however, without giving a signifi- 
cant luok at the inate, which to me, seemed to say, “ 1 have pressed 
a mate in my time.” 


MILES WALLIKGEORD. 129 

Well, sir, the * Dawn,’ of New York,” he continued, noting the 
name in his pocket-book. ‘‘ How are'you called yourself?” 

“^The ‘ Dawn ’ of New York, Miles Wallingford, master.” 

“Miles Wallingford, master. Where from, whither bound, and 
with what laden?” 

“ From New York; bound to Hamburg; cargo sugars, coffee, 
^ind cochineal.” 

. “A very valuable cargo, sir,” observed Mr. Sennit, a little dryly. 
“ I wish for your sake it had been going to any other part of 'the 
world, as this last war has sent the French into, that part of Ger- 
many, and Hamburg is suspected of being rather too much under 
Bony’s influence.” 

“ And were we bound to Bordeaux, sir, what power have you to 
stop a neutral at this distance at sea?” 

“ If you put on power, Mr. Wallingford, you depend on a crutch 
that will betray you. We have power enough to eat you, should 
that be necessary. 1 suppose you mean right." 

“ I shall not dispute with you, sir, about words.” 

“ Well, to prove to you that I am as amicably disposed as your- 
self, 1 will say no more on the subject. With your permission, 1 
will now examine your papers; and to show you that 1 feel myself 
-among friends, 1 will first send my own boat back to the ‘ Speedy.’ ” 

1 was infinitely disgusted with this man’s manner. It had the 
vulgar sort of witticism about even his air, that he so much affected 
in his speech — the whole being deformed by a species of sly malig- 
nancy, that Tendered him as offensive as he seemed to me to be 
dangerous. 1 could not refuse to let a belligerent look at my 
papers, however, and went below to get them, while Sennit gave 
some private orders to his reefer, and sent him away to his frigate. 

While on this subject the reader must excuse an old man’s pro- 
pensity to gossip, if 1 say a word on the general question of the 
right of search. As for the pretense that was setup by some of 
tlie advocates of impressment out of neutral ships, which laid down 
the position, that the belligerent being on board in the exercise of 
an undoubted right to inquire into the character of the ship and 
cargo, he took with him the right to lay hands on all the subjects 
of his own sovereign he might happen to find there, it is not worthy 
of a serious reply. Because a man has a right to take the step pre- 
liminary to the discharge of an admitted power, as an incident of 
that power, it does not follow' that he can make the incident a prin- 
ciple, and convert it into a justification of acts, unlawful in them- 
selves. On this head, therefore, 1 shall say nothing, holding it to 
be beyond dispute among those who are competent to speak on tke 
subject all. But the abuse of that admitted power to board and 
ascerlain the character of a ship has created so lively a feeling im us 
Americans, as to induce us to forego some of the wholesome prin- 
ciples that are necessary to the w'ell-being of all civilized nations. It 
is thus, in my judgment, that we have quite recently and erro- 
neously laid down the doctrine that foreign vessels-of-war shall not 
board American ships on the coast of Africa, in a time of peace, in 
order to ascertain their character. 

On this subject 1 intend to speak plainly. In the first place^ 1 lay 
no claim to that spurious patriotism which says, “ Our country, 

5 


130 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


right or wrong.” This may do for the rabble, but it will not da* 
for God, to whom our first and highest obligations are due. Neither 
country nor man can justify that which is wrong, and 1 conceive it 
to be wrong in a political if not in a moral sense, to deny a vessel- 
of-war the privilege which England here claims. I can see but one 
plausible argument against it, and that is founded on the abuses 
which may arise from the practice. But it will not do to anticipate 
abuses in this instance more than in any other. Every right, 
whether national or international, may be abused in its exercise, 
and the argument, if good tor anything, is as good against every ^ 
other right of international law as it is against this. Abuse, alter * 
it has occurred, might be a justifiable reason for suspending the 
exercise of an admitted right, until some remedies were applied to 
prevent their recurrence, but it can never be urged as a proper argu- 
ment against the right itself. If abuses occur we can get them 
remedied by proper representations, and if these last fail, we have 
the usual appeal of nations. As well might it be said, the law of 
the land shall not be administered, because the sheri£’s officers are 
guilty of abuses, as to say the laws of nations shall cease because we 
apprehend that certain commercial rivalries may induce others to- 
tiansc(!nd them. When the wrong is done it will be time enough to*^ 
seek the remedy. 

That it is the right of a vessel-of-war to ascertain the character ot 
a ship at sea is dependent on her right to arrest a pirate, for in- 
stance. In what manner can this be done, if a pirate can obtain 
impunity by simply- hoisting the flag of some other country, which 
the cruiser is obliged to respect? All that the latter asks is the 
power to ascertain it that flag is not an imposition; and this, much 
every regularly-commissioned public ship should be permitted to 
do, m the interests of civilization and in maintenance of the police 
ol the seas. 

The argument on the other side goes the length ot sa3’-ing, that a 
public cruiser is in the situation of a sheriff’s officer on shore, who 
is compelled to arrest his prisoner on his own responsibility.. In 
the first place, it may be questioned if the dogma of the common 
law, which asserts the privilege of the citizen to conceal his name, 
is worthy of a truly enlightened politicat freedom. It must not be 
forgotten that liberty first took the aspect of franchises, in wnich 
men sought protection from the abuses of power in any maimer 
they could, and often without regarding the justness of the general 
principles with which they were connected; confusion in these prin- 
ciples arising as a consequence. But, admitting tlie dogma ot the 
common law to be as inherently wise as it is confessedly a practice, 
there is no parallel in the necessity ot the case of an arrest on shore 
and of an arrest at sea. In the former instance, the officer may 
apply to witnesses; he has the man before him, and compares hint, 
with the desciiption of the criminal; and, should he make an erro- 
neous arrest, under misleading circumstances, his punishment would 
be merely nominal-^in many cases nothing. But the common law, 
while it gives the subject this protection, does not deny the right of 
the officer to arrest. It only punishes the abuse ot this power, and 
tiiat is precise’y what nations ought to do, in a case ot the abuse oi 
the rigut to examine a merchantman. 


illLES WALLINGFORD. 


131 


The vessel-of-war can not apply to witnesses, and can not judge of 
national character by mere external appearances, since an American- 
built ship can be sailed by Portuguese. The actual necessities of 
the case are in favor of the present English claim, as well as that 
great governing principle, which says that no. great or principal 
right can exist, in international law, without carrying with it all the 
subordinate privileges which are necessary to its discreet exercise. 

Thus much I could not refrain from saying, not that I think John 
Bull is ver}’- often right in his controversies with ourselves; but be- 
cause 1 think, in this case, he is; and because 1 believe it far safer, 
in the long run for a nation, or an individual, to have justice on his 
side, than always to carry his point. 

1 was soon on deck, carrying my writing-desk under my arm, Mr. 
Sennit preferring to make Ids examination in the open air, to mak- 
ing it below, lie read the clearance and manifest with great atten- 
tion. Afterward he asked tor the shipping articles. 1 could see 
that he examined the names of the crew with eagerness, for the man 
was in his element when adding a new hand to his frigate’s crew. 

“ Let me see this Nebuchadnezzar Clawbonny, Mr. Wallingford,” 
he said, chuckling. The name has an alias in its very absurdity, 
and 1 doubt not 1 shall see a countryman — perhaps a townsman.” 

” By turning your head, sir, you can easily see the man. He is 
at the wheel.” 

” A black! — umph — yes; those fellows do sometimes sail under 
droll titles. 1 do not think the lad was born at Gosport.” 

He was born in my father’s house, sir, and is my slave.” 

” Slave! A pretty word in the mouth of a free and independent 
son of liberty, Mr. Wallingford. It is lucky you are not bound to 
that land of despotism, old England, or you might see the fetters fall 
from about the chap’s limbs.” 

1 was nettled, for 1 felt there was some justice in this sarcasm, 
and this, too, at the very moment 1 felt it was only half merited; 
and not at all, perhaps, from an Englishman. But Sennit knew as 
much of the history of my country as he did of his own, having ob- 
tained all he had learned of either out of newspapers. Nevertheless, 
1 succeeded in keeping silent, 

” Nathan Hitchcock; this chap has a suspiciously Yankee name; 
will you let me see him, sir?” observed the lieutenant. 

” The chap’s name, then, does him no more than justice, for 1 
believe he is strictly what we call a Yankee.” 

Nathan came aft at the call of the second mate, and Sennit no 
sooner saw him than he told him to go forward again. It was easy 
to see that the man was perfectly ame to distinguish, by means of 
the eye alone, between the people of the two countries, though the 
eye would sometimes deceive even the most practiced judges. As 
the ” Speedy ” was not much in want of men, he was disposed not 
to lay his hands on any but his own countrymen. 

” 1 shall have to ask you, sir, to muster all your people in the 
gangway,” said .Sennit, rising, as he passed me the ship’s papers. 
” 1 am only a sup’ernumerary of the ‘ Speedy,’ and 1 expect we 
shall soon have the pleasure of seeing her first on board, the Honor- 
able Mr. Powlett. We are a nob ship, having Lord Harry Der- 
mond for our captain, and lots of younger sous in the cockpit.” 


132 


MILES WALLIKGFOED. 


1 cared little who commandel or officered the “ Speedy,” but L 
felt all the degradation of submitting to have my crew mustered by 
a foreign officer, and this, too, with the avowed object of carrying 
away such portions of them as he might see fit to decide were Brit- 
ish subjects. Irv my judgment it would have been much more cred- 
itable and much wiser for the young Hercules to have made an 
effort to use his club, in resisting such an offensive and unjustifia- 
ble assumption of power, than to be setting up doubtful claims ta 
establish principles of public law that will render the exercise of 
some of the most useful of all international rights perfectly nuga- 
tory. 1 felt a disposition to refuse compliance with Sennit’s re- 
quest, and did the result only affect myself 1 think 1 should have 
done so; but conscious that my men would be the sufferers, 1 
thought it more prudent to comply. Accordingly, all the “ Dawn’s ”■ 
people were ordered to muster near the quarter-deck. 

While 1 endeavor to do justice to principles, I wish to do no in- 
justice to Sennit. To own the truth, this man picked out the En 
glishman and’ Irishman as soon as each had answered his first ques- 
tions. They were ordered to get their things ready to go on board, 
the “ Speedy,” and 1 was coolly, directed to pay them any wages 
that might be due. Marble was standing near when this comraaird 
was given, and seeing disgust, most likely, in my countenance, he 
^ook on himself the office of replying. 

‘‘You think accounts should be balanced, then, before these men 
quit the ship?” he asked, significantly. 

” 1. do, sir; and it’s my duty to see it done. 1 will thank you to> 
attend to it at once,” returned the lieutenant. 

“ Well, sir, that bem'g the case, we shall be receivers, instead of 
payers. By looking at the shipping articles, you will see that each 
of these men received fifty dollars, or two months’ advance” (sea- 
men’s wages were as high, frequently, in that day, as twenty or 
thirty dollars); ” and quite half of the ‘ dead-horse’ remains to be 
worked out. Wc will, therefore, thank his Majesty to pay us the 
odd twenty-five dollars for each of the men.” 

‘‘ What countryman are pouf” demanded the lieutenant, with a 
menacing look. ” Cornish by your impudence: have a care, sir; 1 
have carried off males before now, in my day.” 

” 1 came from the land of tombstones, which is an advantage; as 
1 know the road we all must travel, sooner or later. My name is 
Marble, at your service; and there's a hard natur’ under it, as you’ll 
find on trial.” 

Just at this moment, the frigate’s boat came round her stern,, 
carrying the Honorable Mr. Powlett, or the gentleman whom Sen- 
nit Had announced as her first lieutenant. 1 thought the rising anger 
of the last was a little subdued by the appearance of his senior 
officer; social position and private rank making even a greater dif- 
ference betwen the two than mere date of commission. Sennit sup- 
pressed his wrath, therefore; though 1 make no doubt the resent- 
ment he felt at the contumelious manner of my mate had no little 
influence on what subsequently occurred. As things were, he waited,, 
before he proceeded any further, for the “ Speedy’s ” boat to come 
alongside. 

Mr. Powlett turned out to be a very different sort of person from 


MILES WALLI3SrGF0RD. 


135 

his brother lieutenant. There was no mistaking him ior anything^ 
but a gentleman, or for a sailor. Beyond a question, he owed his 
rank in his ship to family influence, and he was one of those scions 
of aristocracy (by no means the rule, however, among the high-born 
of England) wiio never was fit for anything but a carpet-knight, 
though trained to the seas. As 1 afterward learned, his rather held 
high ministerial rank: a circumstance that accounted for his being 
the first lieutenant of a six-and-thirty, at twenty, with a supernu- 
merary lieutenant under him who had been a sailor some years before 
he was born. But the captain of the “ Speedy,” himself. Lord 
Harry Dermond, was only four-and-twenty; though he had com- 
manded his ship two years, and fought one very creditable action in 
her. 

After making my best bow to Mr. Powlett, and receiving a very 
gentleman-like salutation in return. Sennit led his brother officer 
aside, and they had a private conference of some little length to- 
gether. ‘‘ 1 shall not meddle with the crew. Sennit,” 1 overheard 
Powlett say, in a sort of complaining tone, as he walked away from 
his companion. ” Really, 1 can not become the master of a press- 
gang, though the ‘ Speedy ’ had to be worked by her ofliccrs. You 
are used to this business, and 1 leave it all to you. ” 

1 understood this to be a carte-blanche to Sennit to carry off as 
many of my people as he saw fit; there being nothing novel or sur- 
prising in men’s tolerating in otheis acts they would disdain to per- 
form in person. As soon as he left his junior in rank, the youthful 
first lieutenant approached me. 1 call him youthful, for he ap- 
peared even j ounger than he was, though 1 myself had commanded 
a ship when only of his own age. It was easy to see that this young 
man felt he was employed on an affair of some importance. 

‘‘ It is reported to us, on board the ‘ Speedy,’ sir,” the Hon. Mr. 
Powlett commenced, ” that you are bound to Hamburg.” 

” To Hamburg, sir, as my papeis will show.” 

“ Our government regards all trade with that part of the continent 
with great distrust, particularly since the late movements of the 
French. 1 really wish, sir, you had not been bound to Hamburg.” 

”1 believe Hamburg is still a neutral port, sir; and, if it vrere- 
not, 1 do not see why an American should not enter it, until actual- 
ly blockaded.” 

‘‘Ah! these are some of your very peculiar American ideas on- 
such subjects! lean not agree with you, however, it being my duty 
to obey my orders.- Lord Harry has desired us to be very rigorous in 
our examination, and 1 trust you will understand we must comply, 
however unpleasant it may be, sir. 1 understand now, sugar and 
coftee are exceedingly suspicious. ” 

*• They are very innocent things, rightly used, as 1 hope mine will 
be.” 

‘‘ Have you any particular interest in the cargo. Captain 'Walling- 
ford?” 

” Only that of owner, sir. Both ship and cargo are my own pri- 
vate property.” 

‘‘ And you seem to be English, or American — tor, 1 confess my- 
self unable to tell the difference between the people of the two* 
countries, ough 1 dare say there is a very great difference.” 


134 MILES WALLINGFORD. 

“ 1 am aa American by birth, as have been my ancestors for gen- 
•erations. ” 

“1 declare that is remarkable! Well, 1 can see no difterence. 
But, if you are American, 1 do not see why the sugar and coftee are 
not Ameiicau, loo. Lord Harry, however, desired us to be very 
particular about these things, tor some reason or other. Do you hap- 
pen to know, now, where this sugar grew?” 

” The canes of which it was made grew, 1 believe, in St. Domin- 
go.” 

“ Bt. Domingo? Is not that a French island?’' 

” Certainly, in part, sir; though the Spaniards and the negroes 
dispute the possession with the French.” 

1 declare 1 must send Lord Harry word of this! 1 am exceed- 
ingly sorry. Captain Wallingford, to detain j'our ship, but my duty 
requires me to sencTa young gentleman on board the ‘ Speedy ’ tor 
orders.” 

As 1 could urcre no plausible objection, the young gentleman was 
■again sent back to the frigate. In the meantime. Sennit had not been 
idle. Among my crew were a Swede and a Prussian, and both 
these men having acquired their 'English in London or Liverpool, 
he affected to believe they were natives of the old island, ordering 
them to get their dunnage ready to go under the pennant. Neither 
of the men, however, was disposed to obey him, and when 1 joined 
the group, leaving the Hon. Mr. Powlett waiting the return of his 
boat, on the quarter-deck, 1 found the three in a warm discussion on 
the subject. 

” I’ll tell you what it is, Mr. Wallingford,” Sennit cried, as I ap- 
proached, ‘‘ we will compromise matters. Here are two fellows who 
are Lancashire men, if the truth were known, that pretend to be 
Norwegians, or Fins, or to come from some other outlandish coun- 
try or other, and 1 wish to place them under his Majesty’s pennant, 
where they properly belong; as t.hey are so reluctant to receive this 
honor, 1 will consent to take that line-looking Kentish man, wdio is 
worth them both put together.” 

As this was said. Sennit pointed to Tom Voorhees, an athletic, 
handsome young North River man, of Dutch extraction, a fellow 
who had not a drop of English blood in' his veins, and tlie ablest- 
bodied and the best seaman in the “Dawm;” a fact that the lieu- 
tenant’s nautical tact had not been slow to detect. 

” You are asking me to let you haVe a man wdio was born within 
ten miles of myself,” 1 answered, “ and whose family 1 know to be 
American, for near two centuries.” 

“Ay, ay; you’re all of old families in America, as everybody 
knows. The chap is English born for a hundred guineas; and 1 
could name a spot in Kent, not ten miles distant from that where 
he first saw the light. 1 do not say, however, you w^ere not his 
neighbor — for you have a Dover look, yourself.” " 

“You might be less disposed to pleasantry, sir, were this a thirty- 
six, or were you and I on shore. ” 

Sennit gave me a disdainful look, and terminated the affair by 
ordering Voorhees to get his chest ready, and .to join the twm otheV 
men he had pressed. Taking example, however, from the Swede 
and the Prussian, Voorhees walked away, using no measures to 


MILES WALLIIhGFORD. 


135 

obey. As for myself, thoroughly disgusted with this man, a vulgar 
rogue, 1 walked att to the other lieutenant, who was only a gentle- 
man-like dunce. 

Mr. Powlett now began to converse of London ; and he told me 
how often he had been at the opera when last in town — and re- 
marked what an exceedingly delightful fete champUre was lady 
somebody’s entertainment of that sort. This occupied us until the 
boat returned, with a very civil request from the captain of the 
“ Speedy,” that 1 would do him the favor to pay him a visit, bring- 
ing with me the ship’s papers. As this was what no belligerent had 
a right to demand, though privateersmen constantly did it, 1 could 
comply or not. Fancying it might expedite matters, regarding the 
civility of the request as a good omen, and feeling a desire to deal 
with principals, in an affair that was very needlessly getting to be 
serious, 1 consented to go. Marble was called, and formally told 
to take charge of the ship. I could see a smile of contempt on Sen- 
nit’s lace, at this little ceremony, though he made no objection in 
terms. 1 had expected that the first lieutenant would go to the 
frigate with me, but, after a short consultation with his junior, the 
last was deputed to do me this honor. 

Sennit now appeared disposed to show me every slight and in^ 
dignity it was in his power to manifest. Like all vulgar-minded 
men, he could not refrain from maltreating those whom he designed 
to injure. He made me precede him into the boat, and went up the 
” Speedy’s ” side first, himself, on reaching that vessel. His cap- 
tain’s conduct was very different. Lord Harry was not a very noble- 
looking personage, as your worshipers of rank imagine nobility to- 
appear, but he was decidedly well-mannered; and it was easy 
enough to' see he commanded his own ship, and was admirably, 
fitted so to do. 1 have had occasion to learn that there is a vast deal 
of aristocratic and democratic cant, on the subject of the appear- 
ances, abilities, qualities, and conduct of Europeans of birth and 
station. 

In the first place, nature has made them very much as she makes 
other people; and the only physical difference there is proceeds from 
habit and education. Then, as to the enervating effects of aristoc- 
racy, and noble effeminacy, 1 have seen ten times as much of it 
among .your counter-jumpers and dealers in bobbinet, as i have seen 
in the sons of dukes and princes; and in my later days, circum- 
stances have brought me much in contact with many of these last. 
Manliness of character is far more likely to be the concomitant of 
aristocratic birth, than of democratic, I am afraid; for, while those- 
who enjoy the first feel themselves above popular opinion, those 
who possess the last bow to it, as the Asiatic slave bows to his mas- 
ter. 1 wish I could think otherwise; but experience has convinced 
me of these facts, and 1 have learned to feel the truth of an axiom 
that is getting to be somewhat familiar among ourselves, viz., ” that 
it takes an aristocrat to make a true democrat.” Certain 1 am, that 
all, the real, manly, independent democrats 1 have ever known in 
America, have been accused of aristocracy, and this simply because- 
they were disposed to cairy out their principles, and not to let that 
imperious sovereign, ” the neighborhood,” play the tyrant over 
them. As for personal merit, quite as fair a proportion of talent is 


136 * MILES WALLINGFORD. 

Joiind araons; the well-born as anionc; the low; and he is but an ad 
eaptandum 'culgus sort of a philosopher who holds the contrary 
doctrine. Talleyrand was of one of the most ancient and illustri- 
ous houses of Europe, as was Turenne; while Mansfield, Erskine, 
Grey, Wellington, and a host of Englishmen of mark of our time, 
come of nobie blood. No, no, the cause of free institutions has 
much higher and much jiister distinctions to boast of, than this 
imaginary superiority of the humbly -born over those wdio come of 
ancient stock. 

Lord Harry D(y’mnnd received me just as one of his station ought 
to receive one of mine, politely, without in the least compromising 
^ his own dignity. There was a good-natured smile on his face, of 
which, at first, 1 did not know what to make. He had a private 
conversation with Sennit, too, but the smile underwent no change. 
In the end, 1 came to the conclusion that it was habitual with him, 
and Dieant nothing. But, though so much disposed to smile. Lord 
Harry Dermond was equally disposed to listen to every suggestion 
of Sennit that was likely to favor the main cliance. Prize money is 
certainly a great stain on the chivalry of all navies, but it is a stain 
with which the noble wishes to be as deeply dyed as the plebeian. 
Human nature is singularly homogeneous on the subject of money; 
and younger-son nature, in the hands of majorats piWd entails, enjoys 
a liveliness of longing on the subject that is quite as conspicuous as 
the rapacity of the veriest plebeian who ever picked a pocket. 

“1 am very soriy. Captain Wallingford,” Captain Lord Harry 
Dermond observed to me, when his private conference with Sennit 
was ended, and altogether superior to the weakness of Powiett, 
who w^ould have discussed the point, ” that it is my duty to send 
your ship into Plymouth. The French have got such an ascend- 
ency on the continent, that we are obliged to use every act of vigi- 
lance to counteract them. Then, your cargo is of enemy’s growth.” 

” As for the ascendency, my lord, you will see we AmericaoB 
have nothing to do with it, and my cargo, being necessarily of last 
year’s crops, must have been grown and manufactured in a time of 
general peace. If it were not, 1 do not conceive it would legalize 
my capture.” 

“We must leave Sir William Scott to decide that, my good sir,” 
answered the captain, with his customary smile; ‘‘ and there is no 
use in our discussing the matter. An unpleasant duty ” — as if he 
thought the chance of putting two or three thousand pounds in his 
pocket, unpleasant! — “an unpleasant duty, however, need not be 
performed in a disagreeable manner. If you will point out what 
portion of your people you could wish to keep in your ship, it shall 
be attended to. Of course, you remain by your property yourself; 
and 1 confess, whatever may be done with the cargo, T think the 
ship will be liberated. As the day is advancing, and it will re- 
quire some little time to exchange the people, 1 should be exceed- 
ingly happy it you would do me the favor to lunch in my cabin.” 

This was gentlemanly conduct, if it were not lawful. 1 could 
foresee a plenty of evil consequences to myself in the delay, though 
1 own 1 had no great apprehensions of a condemnation. There 
was ray note to John Wallingford to meet, and two months’ deten- 
tion might keep me so long from liome, as to put the payment at 


MILES ■nVallingeokd. 137 

maturity quite out of the question, Then came the mortgage on 
Clawboun 3 ^ with its disquieting pictures; and 1 was in anything 
but a good humor to enjo}’ Lord Harry Dei niond’s hospitality. Still 
1 knew the uselessness ot remonstrances, and the want of dignity 
there w'ould be in repining, and succeeded in pulling a good face 
on the matter. 1 simply requested that my chief mate, the cook,, 
and Neb, might be left in the “ Dawn,” submitting It to the dis- 
cretion of my captors to take out of her as many of the remainder 
ot her people as they saw fit. Lord Harry remarked it was not 
usual to leave a mate, but to oblige me, he would comply. The 
frigate would go in for water in the course of a fortnight, when 1 
might depend on having the entire crew, his Majesty’s subjects ex- 
cepted, restored to my command. 


: CHAPTER XIV. 

1st Gent. What is my ransom, master? Let me know. 

Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your head. 

Mate. And so much shall you give, or off goes yours. 

^ King Henry VI. 

1 NEVER saw a man more astounded, or better disposed to fly into 
a passion, than was the case with Mr. Moses Uloff Van Duzer Mar- 

- ble, when he was told that the Dawn ” was to be sent into Eng- 
land for adjudication. Nothing kept his tongue within the bounds 
of moderation, and 1 am tar from certain 1 might not add his fists, 

- but my assurances he would be sent on board the “ Speedy ” unless 
he behaved with prudence. As our people were sent out ot the 
ship, 1 thought, several limes, he would break out in open hostili- 

" ties; and he did actually propose to me to knock Sennit down, and 
throw him overboard. With a significant look, I told him it was 
not time for this. The mate now laid a finger on his nose, winked, 
and from that moment he not only seemed cheerful, but he assisted 
in hoisting in and out the different articles that were exchanged, in 
shifting the crews. 

When all was read}’’, it appeared that Sennit was to be our prize 
master. Although a lieutenant in commission, he had only been 
lent to Lord Harry Dermond by the admiral, in order to fill up the 
crew of that favored officer; the “ Speedy ” having her regular 
complement of lieutenants without him. As the cruise was so 
nearly up, and the ship had experienced great success in impressing 
since* she sailed. Sennit could be spared; and, if the truth were 
said, 1 make no doubt his messmates in the frigate were glad to be 
rid ot him, now they had no further occasion for his peculiar skill 
and services. 

Mr. Sennit brought on board with him, as a prize crew, ten fore- 
mast-men, besides a master’s mate, of the name of Diggins. Under 
ordinary circumstances, this last dignitary would have been of suffi- 
cient skill to take the ship in; but this was the first prize Lord Harry 
had taken; she promised to be valuable if condemned; and I suppose 
he and his young, gentleman- like luffs were desirous of getting rict 
of their vulgar associate. At any rate, Messrs. Sennit and Diggins 
botli came on board us, bag and baggage. 

The various changes, the lunch, and the chase of the morning,. 


138 MILES WALLIMGFORD. 

had so far worn away the day, that the two vessels did not make 
sail until lour o’clock p.m., when both ships filled at the same time; 
the ‘‘ Bpeedy ” on a wind, with two reefs in her topsails, as when 
first seen, to play about for more prizes, and the “ Dawn ” under 
studding-sails, with the wind nearly over the taffrail. When all 
was ready, each ship started away from the vacant point on the 
ocean, where they had been lyins: for hours, moving on diverging 
lines, at a rate that soon put a wide expanse ot water between them. 

1 felt the circumstance of being left under the command ot such 
a man as Sennit almost as sensibly as 1 felt the loss of rrty ship. 
He and the mate established themselves in my cabin, within the first 
hour,* in a way lhat would have brouo^bt about an explDsion, had 
not policy lobade it, on my part. Sennit even took possession of my 
state-room, in which he ordered his own cot to be swung, and 
from which he coolly directed my mattress to be removed. As the 
lockers were under locks and keys, 1 permitted him to take posses- 
sion without a remonstrance. Diggins stowed his bedding in Mar- 
ble’s berth, leaving my mate and myself to shift for ourselves. At 
a suggestion from Marble 1 affected great indignation at this treat- 
ment, directing Neb to clear away a place in the steerage, in which 
to live, and to swing hammocks there for Marble and myself. This 
movement had some effect on Sennit, who was anxious to get at the 
small stores; all of which were under good locks, and loclis that 
he did not dare violate, under an order from the admiralty. It was, 
therefore, of much importance to him to belong to my mess; and the 
necessity of doing something to appease my resentment became im- 
mediately apparent to him. He made some apologies for his cavalier 
conduct, justifying what he had done on the score of- his rank and 
the usages of navies, and 1 thought it prudent to receive his excuses 
in a way to avoid an open rupture. Sennit was left in possession 
of the state-room, but 1 remained in the steerage; consenting, how- 
ever, to mess in the cabin. This arrangement, which was altogether 
premeditated on my part, gave me many opportunities of consult- 
ing privately with Marble; and of making sundry preparations for 
profiting by the first occasion that should offer to retake the ship. 
In that day, recaptures were of pretty frequent occurrence; and 1 
no sooner understood the “Dawn” was to be sent in, than 1 
began to reflect on the means of effecting my purpose. Marble had 
been kept in the ship by me, expressly with this object. 

1 suppose the reader to have a general idea ot the postion ot the 
vessel, as well as of the circumstances in which she was placed. We 
were just three hundred and fifty-two miles to the southward and 
westward of Scilly, wdien I observed at meridian, and, the* wind 
blowing fresh from the south-south-west, there was no time to lose, 
did 1 meditate anything serious against the prize crew. The first 
occasion that presented to me to speak to my mate offered while we 
were busy together in the steerage stowing away our effects, and 
making such dispositions as we could to be comfortable. 

“ What think you, Moses, of this Mr. Sennit and his people?” 1 
asked, in a low voice, leaning forward on a water-cask, in order to 
get my head nearer to that ot the mate. “ They do not look like 
first rate man-of-war’s men; by activity and surprise could w'e not 
iiandle them?” 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 




Marble laid a finser on liis nose, winked, looked as sagacious as lie- 
knew how, and then went to the steerage door, which communi- 
cated with the companion-way, to listen it all were safe in that quar- 
ter. Assured that there was no one near, he communicated his 
thoughts as follows: 

“The same idee has been at work here,” he said, tapping hia 
forehead wdth a foretinger, “ and good may come of it. This Mr. 
Sennit is a cunning shap, and will want good looking after, but his 
mate drinks like a coal-heaver; 1 can see that in his whole face; a 
top-lantern is not lighter. He must be handled by brandy. Then, a 
more awkward set of long-shore fellows were never sent to manage', 
a square-rigged craft, than these which have been sent from the 
‘ Speedy.’ The 3 '^mu 8 t have given us the very sweepings of the hold.” 

“ You know how it is with these dashing young man-of-war cap- 
tains; they keep all their best materials for a figlR. French frigates 
are tolerably plenty, they tell me, and this Lord Hairy Dermoud, 
much as he loves sugar and coftee, w'ould like to fall in with a ‘ La 
'Vigilante,’ or a ‘ La Diane,’ of equal force, far better. This is the 
secret of his giving Sennit such a set of raw ones. Besides, he sup- 
poses the ‘ Dawn ’ will be at Plymouth in eight-and-forty hours, as 
will certainly be the case, should this wind stand.” 

“ The fellows are just so many London loafers.” (I have always 
thought Marble had the merit of bringing this word into fashion.) 

“ There are but three seamen among them, and they are more fit for 
a hospital than tor a lower yard or a jib-boom.” 

There was a good deal of truth, blended with some exaggeration, 
mixed up with this statement of the mate. As a matter of course, 
the captain of the “ Speedy ” had not sent away his best men, 
though they were not quite as bad as Marble, iu his desire to over- 
come them, was disposed to fancy. It is true there were but three 
of their number whom the quick nautical instinct of the mate had 
recognized as real seamen, though all had been on board ship long 
enough to render them more or less useful. 

“ Whatever we do must be done at once,” I rejoined. “We are 
four athletic men, to act against twelve. The odds are heavy, but 
we shall have the advantage of being picked men, and of attacking 
by surprise.” 

“ 1 wish you had thought of asking to keep "Voorheesin the ship. 
Miles; that fellow would be worth three ordinary men to us.” 

“ I did think of it, but the request would never have been granted. 
One could ask for a cook, or a mate, or a servant like Neb, but to 
ask for an able seaman or two would ‘have been to declare our ob- 
ject.” 

“ 1 believe you’re right, and we must be thankful for the goocg 
stuff we have, as it is. How far will the law bear us out in knock- 
ing men on the head in such an undertaking? It’s peace for Amer- 
ica, and we must steer clear of piracy! ’ 

“ I’ve thought of all that, Moses, and see no great cause of appre- 
hension. A man has certainly a light to recover that by the strong^ 
hand which he lost by the strong hand. Should blood be spilled,,* 
which 1 hope to avert, the English courts might judge us harshly, 
wliile the American would acquit us.’ The law would be the same 
in both cases, though its administration would be very different. I 


140 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


am ready to cast my own fortune on the issue, and 1 wish no man 
to join me who will not do so, heart and hand. 1 see no reason to 
suppose it will be necessary to take life, to which I have as strong 
reluctance as you can have yourself.” 

There’s my hand!” exclaimed Marble, and as for hs owner’s 
heart, you well know where that is to be found. Miles. Enough has 
been said for a beginning. We will look about us this afterrioon, 
and talk further after supper.” 

” Good. Do you say a word to Billings, the cook, and 1 will 
open the matter to Neb. Of the last we are certain, but it may be 
well to make some promises to your man.” 

” Leave that to me. Miles. 1 know my chap, and will deal with 
him as 1 would with an owner.” 

Marble and myself now separated, and 1 went on deck to observe 
how things promised in that quarter. By this time, the ‘‘ Speedy’s ” 
topsails were beginning to dip, and the ” Dawn ” was driving for- 
ward on her course, with everything drawing that she could carry. 
All the English were on deck. Sennit included. The last gave me 
a sufSciently civil salute as I put tfiy foot on the quarter deck, but 
1 avoided falling into any discourse with him. My cue was to note 
the men, and to ascertain all 1 could concerning their distribution 
during the approaching night. 

Diggins, 1 could see, was a red-faced fellow, who probably had 
lost his promotion through love of the bottle, though, as often hap- 
pens with such persons, a prime seaman and a thorough man-of- 
war’s man. Of him, 1 thought 1 could make sure by means of 
brandy. Sennit struck me as being a much more difficult subject to 
get along with. There were signs of cognac about his face, too, 
but he had more rank, more at slake, and brighter hopes than the 
master’s mate. Then he was evidently better practiced in the ways 
of the world than his companion, and had constantly a sort of 
uneasy vigilance about his eye and manner that gave me no little 
concern. 

. It was my wish to strike a blow,, if possible, that very night, 
every minute carrying us fast toward the chops of the Channel, 
where the English had so many cruisers in 'general, as to render ul- 
timate escape next to impossible, should we even be so lucky as to 
regain command of our own. ship. 1 was afraid, moreover. Sennit 
might take it into his head to have all hands up all night, under the 
pretext of drawing in with the land. Should he actually adopt this 
course, our case was nearly hopele.ss, 

” Your mate seems to love the cupboard, Mr. Wallingford, ” Sen- 
nit remarked to me, in a good-natured manner, with" an evident 
.wish to establish still more amicable relations between us than had 
yet exist ki: ” he has been in and about that galley these ten min- 
utes, fidgeting with his tin-pot, like a raw hand who misses his 
mother’s lea!” 

Sennit laughed at his own humor, and 1 could hardly answer with 
a smile, for 1 knew my mate had adopted this experiment to open 
Communications with the cook. 

” Mr. Marble is famous tor his love of slops,” I answered eva- 
sively. 

” Well, he docs not look it. 1 have seldom seen a more thorough- 


MILES WALLIJ^GFORD. 


141 

looking sea-dog than your mate. Captain Wallingford ’’—tin's was 
the first time Sennit bad dignified me with this title — “ and 1 took 
a fancy to him on tliat account, as soon as 1 saw him. You will do 
me the favor to sup with us in the cabin, I hope, for 1 s^e signs at 
the galley that it will soon be ready?” 

” 1 shall expect to join your mess, sir, now explanations have 
passed between us. 1 suppose my mate is to be one of my party, as 
well as yours?” • 

” Certainly. 1 shall ask tfie favor of you to let Mr. Marble relieve 
Diggins, for half an hour or so, while the poor fellow gets a bite. 
We’ll do as much tor you another time.” 

This was said in a dr 7, laughing sort of way, which showed that 
Mr. Sennit was fully aware he was making a request a little out of 
rule, to ask a man to aid in carrying his own ship into port as a 
prize; but 1 took it as it was meant, for a rough joke that had con- 
venience at the bottom. 

It was not long ere Neb came to announce that supper was ready. 
Sennit had made buj an indifferent dinner, it would seem, and he 
appeared every way disposed to take his revenge on the present oc- 
casion. Calling out 10 me to follow, he led the way cheerfully into 
the cabin, professing great satisfaction at finding we were to make 
but one mess of it. Strictly speaking, a prize crew, under circum- 
stances like those in which the ” Dawn ” was now placed, had no 
rieht to consume any portion of the vessel’s own stores, condemna- 
tion being indispensable to legalize Lord Harry Dermond’s course, 
even according to the laws of his own country. But 1 had ordered 
Neb to be liberal with my means,, and a very respectable entertain- 
ment was spread before our eyes, when we reached the cabin. 
Sennit was soon hard at work: but, under pretense of looking for 
some better sugar than had been placed on the table, I got chree 
bottles of brandy privately into Neb’s hands, whispering him to give 
one to the master’s mate on deck, and the other two to the crew. 1 
knew there were too many motives for such a bribe, connected with 
our treatment, the care of our private property, and other things of 
that nature, to feel any apprehension that the true object of this 
liberality would be suspected by those who were to reap its advan- 
tages. 

Sennit, Marble, and myself sat.quitean hour at table. The former 
drank freely of wine; though he declined having anything to do 
with the brandy. As he had taken two or three glasses of the re- 
jected liquor in my presence before the two ships parted, 1 was con- 
vinced his present forbearance 'proceeded from a consciousness of 
the delicate circumstances in which he was placed, and 1 became 
rather more wary in my own movements. At length the lieutenant 
said something about the ” poor devil on deck,” and Marble was 
sent up to look out for the ship, while Diggins came below to eat. 
The instant the master’s mate appeared, 1 could see the brandy had 
been doing its work on him, and 1 was fearful his superior might 
notice it. He did not, however, being too well pleased with the 
Madeira I had set before him, to trouble himself about a few drams, 
more or less, that might- have fallen to the share of his subordinate. 

At length this memorable supper, like everything else of earth, 
tjame to an end, and all of us went on deck, in a body; leaving Neb 


142 MILES WALLINGFOKD, 

and the cook to clear away the fragments. It was now nighty 
though a soft starlight was diffused over the surface of the rolling, 
water. The wind had moderated a little, and the darkness prom- 
ised to pass without any extra labor to the peo'ple, several of the 
studding-sails having been taken in by Diggins’s orders, when we 
first went below. 

When seamen first come on deck at sea, there is usuall^y a pause , 
in the discourse, while each notes the weather, the situation of the 
ship, and the signs of the hour. Sennit and myself did this, almost 
as a matter of course, separating, in order that each might make his 
observation at leisure. As for Marble, he gave up the command of 
the deck to Diggins, walking forward by himself. INeb and the 
cook were keeping up the customary clattering with plates, knives, 
and forks, 

“ Have the people had their suppers yet, Mr. Diggins?"' demanded 
the lieutenant. 

“ Not yet, sir. We have no cook of our own, you know, sir, 
and so have been obliged to wait, sir." 

“ The king’s men wait for nobody. Order that black fellow to 
let them have their suppers at once; while that is doing, we’ll tell 
off the watches for the night." 

Diggins was evidently getting more and more under the influ- 
ence of brandy, keeping the bottle hid somewhere near him, by 
which means he took frequent draughts unperceived. He gave tbe 
necessary orders, notwithstandiug;" and presently the men were 
mustered aft to be told oft into the two watches that were required 
for the service of the ship. This was soon done, Sennit choosing 
five, and Diggins his five. 

It’s past eight o’clock," said Sennit, when the selections were 
made. " Go below the watch, and all but the man at the wheel of 
the watch on deck can go below to the lights to eat. Bear a hand, 
with your suppers, ni}'' lads-, this is too big a craft to be left with- 
out lookouts forward, though 1 dare say the Yankees will lend us 
a hand wdiile you are swallowing a mouthful?". 

"To be sure we will, sir," cried Marble, who had conie to the 
gangway" to witness the proceedings. *' Hele, you. Neb, come out 
of that galley and play forecastle-man, while John Bull gets his 
supper. He’s always cross when he’s hungry, and we’ll feed him 
well to make a good neighborhood.” 

This caused some who heard it to laugh, and others to swear and 
mutter. Every one, nevertheless, appeared willing to profit by the 
arrangement, the Englishmen being soon below, hard at work around 
the kids. It now struck me that Marble intended to clap the fore- 
castle-hatch down suddenly, and make a rush upon the prize officers 
and the man at the wheel. Leaving one hand to secure the scuttle, 
we should have been just a man apiece tor those on deck; and 1 
made no doubt the project would have succeeded had it been at- 
tempted in that mode. 1 was, by nature, a stronger man than Sennit, 
beside? being younger and in my prime, while Diggins would not 
have been more than a child in Marble’s hands. As for the man at 
the wheel. Neb could have thrown him half-way up to the mizzen-- 
top, on an emergency. But it seemed that my mate had a deeper 
project in view; nor was the other absolutely certain, as I after- 


MII/ES WALLINCIFORD. 


143 


ward learned, one of the Englishmen soon coming out of the fore- 
castle to eat on deck, quite likely aware that there might be some 
risk in letting all hands remain below. 

It was now sufficiently dark for our purposes, and 1 began to re- 
flect seriously on the best mode of proceeding, when, all at once, a 
heavy splash in the water was heard, and Marble was heard shoht- 
in^, “ Man overboard!’' 

Sennit and 1 ran to the lee main-rigging, where we just got a 
glimpse of the hat of the poor fellow, who seemed to be swimming 
manfully, as the ship foamed past him. 

“Starboard your helm!” shouted Marble. “Starboard your 
helm! Come to these torebraces, Neb; bear a hand this a- way, you 
•cook. Captain Wallingford, please lend us a pull. Look out for 
the boat, Mn Sennit; we’ll take care of the head-yards.” 

Now all this had been regularly concocted in the mate’s mind in 
advance. By these means he not only managed to get all our people 
together, but he got them away from the boat. "^The whole was 
done so naturally as to prevent the smallest suspicion of any design. 
To do Sennit justice, 1 must acknowledge that he behaved himself 
particularly well on this sudden appeal to his activity and decision. 
The loss of a man was to him a matter of deep moment;^ ali his 
habits and propensities inclining him to be solicitous about the nian- 
ning of ships. A man saved was as good as a man impressed^ and 
he was the first person in the boat. By the time the ship had lost 
her way tbe boat was ready, and 1 heard Sennit call out the order 
to lower. As for us Americans, we had our hands full to get the 
head-yards braced up in time, and to settle away the topgallant- 
halyards, aft, in order to save the spars. In two minutes, however, 
the “ Dawn ” resembled a steed that had suddenly thrown his rider, 
diverging from his course, and shooting athwart the field at right 
angles to his former track, scenting and snuffing the air. Forward 
all was full, but the after-yards having been square from the first, 
their sails lay aback, and the ship was slowly forging ahead, with 
the seas slapping against her bows, as if the last were admonishing 
her to stop. 

I now walked aft to the laftfail, in order to make certain of the 
state of things. Just as 1 reached the stern. Sennit was encourag- 
ing the men to “ give way ’' with the oar. 1 saw that he had six of 
his people with him, and no doubt six of his best men— the boldest 
1 and most active being always the most forward on such occasions. 
There was no time to be lost, and 1 turned to look for Marble. He 
was at my elbow, having sought me with the same object. We 
walked aVay from the man at the wheel together, to get out of 
•ear-shot. 

“ Now’s your time. Miles,” the mate muttered, slipping one of 
my own pistols into my hands as he spoke. That master’s mate is 
as muzzy as a tanster at midnight, and 1 can make him do What 1 
please. ~Neb has. his orders, and the cook is ready and willing. You 
have only to say the word, to begin.” 

* “ There seems little necessity for bloodshed,” 1 answered. “ If 
you have the other pistol, do not use it unnecessarily; we may want 
it for the boat — ” 

“ Boat!” interrupted Marble. “ Wnai more have we to do witU 


144 


MILES WALLINGFOKD. 


the boat? No — no — Miles; let this Mr. Sennit go to England where 
he belongs. Now, see how I’ll manage Diggins,” he added. 1 
want to get a luft purchase up out of the forecastle; will you just 
order two or three of your fellows forward, 1o go down and pass it 
up for me?” 

” D’ye hear there, forward,” called out Diggins, in a very thick 
voice. ” Tumble down into that forecastle, three or four of you, 
and pass up'the tackle for Mr. Marble.” 

Now, there were but three of the Englishman left in the ship, 
exclusively of the master’s mate himself, and the man at the wheel. 
This order, consequently, sent all three immediately into the fore- 
castle. Marble coolly drew over the hatch, secured it, ordered the 
cook to keep a general lookout forward and, walking aft, as it noth- 
ing occurred, said in his quiet way— 

” The ship’s yours, again. Captain Wallingford.” 

“Mr. Diggins,” 1 said, approaching the master’s mate, “as I 
have a necessitj^ lor this vessel, which is my properly, if you please- 
sir, i’ll now take charge of her in person. You had better go below 
and make yourself comfortable; there is good brandy to be had for 
the asking, and you may pass an agreeable evening, and turn in 
whenever it suits you.” 

Diggins was a sot and a fool, but he did not want for pluck. Hi& 
first disposition was to give battle, beginning to call out for his men 
to come to his assistance, bui 1 put an end to this, by seizing him 
by the collar, and dropping him, a little unceremoniously, down the- 
companion-way. Half an hour later, he was dead drunk, and snor- 
ing on the cabin floor. 

There remained only the man at the wheel to overcome. He was- 
a seaman, of course, and one of those quiet, orderly men, who 
usually submit to the powers that be. Approaching him, I said — 
“ Yoii see how it is, my lad; the ship has again changed owners. 
As tor you, you shall be treated as you behave. Stand to the 
wheel, and you’ll get good treatment and plenty of grog, but, by 
becoming fractious, you’ll find yourself in irons before you knovr 
where you are. ” 

“ Ay, ay, sir,” answered the man, touching his hat, and content- 
ing himself with this brief and customary reply. 

“ Now, Mr. Marble,” I continued, “ it is time to have an eye on 
the boat, which will soon find the man, or give him up. 1 own, 
that 1 wish we had recovered the ship without tossing the poor fel- 
low overboard.” ^ 

“Fellow overboard!” cried Marble, laughing. “I’d ha’ thrown 
all England into the sea, had it been necessary and in my power, but 
it wasn’t necessary to throw overboard so much as a child. The 
chap they’re arter is nothing but one of the fenders, with the deep- 
sea lashed to its smaller end, and a tarpaulin stopped on the larger! 
Mr. Sennit need be in no great hurry, for I’ll engage his ‘ man over- 
board ’ will float as long as his yawl!” 

The whole of Marble’s expedient was thus explained, and 1 con- 
fess 1 was muth relieved by a knowledge of the truth. Apart froin 
the general relief that accompanied the consciousness of not having 
taken human life, should we again fall into English hands, a thing 
by no means improbable, in the situation in which we were placed 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 145 

this circumstance might be of the last importance to us. In the 
mean time, however, 1 had to look to the boat and to the ship. 

The first thing we did was to dew up the three topgallant-sails. 
This gave us a much easier command of the vessel, short-handed as 
we were, and it rendered it less hazardous to the spars to keep the 
“ Dawn ” on a wind. When this was done, 1 ordered the after- 
braces manned, and the leeches brought as near as possible to touch- 
ing. It was time; for the oars were heard, and then 1 got a view 
of the boat as it came glancing down on our weather quarter. I 
instantly gave the order to fill the aftersails, and to keep the ship 
full and by. The braces were manned as well as they could be by 
Marble, Neb, and the cook, while 1 kept an eye on the boat, with 
an occasional glance at the man at the wheel. 

“ Boat ahoy!” 1 hailed, as soon as the lieutenant got near enough 
for conversation. 

‘‘Ay, boat ahoy! sure enough,” growled Sennit; ‘‘some gentle- 
man’s back will pay tor this trick. The ‘ man overboard ’ is noth- 
ing but a d-^d paddy made out of a fender with a tarpaulin truck! 
1 suspect your mate of this, Mr. ’Wallingford.” 

‘‘ IMy niate owns the.ofl:en8e, sir; it was committed to get you out 
of the ship, while we took charge of her again. The ‘ Dawn ’ is 
under my orders once more, Mr. Sennit, and before I permit you to 
come on board her again we must have an understanding on the 
subject.” 

A long, meaning whistle, with a muttered oath or two, satisfied 
me that the lieutenant had not the slightest suspicion of the truth, 
until it was thus abrujdly announced to him. By this lime the 
boat was under our stern where she was brought in order to be 
hooked on, the men intending to come up by the tackles. For this 
1 cared not, however, it being an easy matter for me, standing on 
thetaflrail, to knock any one on the* head who should attempt to 
board us in that fashion. By way of additional security, however. 
Neb was called to the wheel. Marble taking the English sailor for- 
ward to help haul the bowlines and trim the yards. The ship be- 
ginning to gather way, too, I threw Sennit the end of a lower stud- 
ding-sail halyards that were brought aft for the purpose, ordered his 
bowman to let go his hold of the tackle, and dropped the boat a sate 
towing distance astein. Neb being ordered to keep the weather- 
leeches touching, just way enough was got on the ship to carry out 
the whole of this plan without risk to anybody. 

‘‘ You’ll not think of leaving us out here on the Atlantic,^ Mr, 
'Wallingford, five hundred miles from the 1 sand’s End,” Sennit at 
length called out, lime having been taken to chew the cud of re- 
flection. 

” That’s as you behave, sir. 1 wish you no harm personally, Mr. 
Sennit, though 1 much wish my own ship. The night promisee to» 
be good and the wind is modenting, so that the boat will be per- 
fectly safe. 1 will have you hauled up, and we will throw you a 
spare sail for a covering, and you will have the consolation of know- 
ing that we shall have to keep watch while you are sleeping.” 

” Ay, sir, 1 understand it all; Job’s comfort that will be. As 1 
do not suppose you are to be coaxed out of the advantage you have 
obtained, we have no choice but compliance. Give us some food. 


MILES M'ALLII^GFORD. 


146 

and water in addition, and for God’s sake! don’t cast us adritt in 
this boat, so far from land.” 

1 gave Sennit an assurance that we would take care of him, and 
orders were issued to comply with his wishes. We passed the sail 
into the boat, and lowered a bread bag, a kid full of beet and pork, 
and a breaker of fresh water. 1 took all these precautions the more 
readily, as 1 did not know hut we' might be compelled to cast the 
boat adrift, and one would not wish to resort to such a step, with- 
out desiring to leave his crew the best possible chance for their 
lives. I will do Marble the justice to say he was active in making 
these arrangements, though had the question of destroying the en- 
tire prize crew presented itself on one side, and that of losing the 
ehip on the other, he would not have hesitated about sinking Great 
JBrilain itself, w^ere it possible to achieve the last. 1 was more 
human, and felt exceedingly relieved when 1 again found myself in 
command of the ” Dawn,” after an interregnum of less than ten 
hours, without a drop of blood having been spilled. 

As soon as every thing required was passed into the boat she was 
dropped astern, nearly to the whole length of the studding-sail hal- 
yards. This would make her tow more safely to both parties; to 
those in her, because there was less risk of the ship’s dragging her 
under, and to ourselves, because it removed all danger of the En- 
glishmen’s returning our favor, by efiecting a surprise in their, turn. 
At such a distance from the ship there would always be time for us 
to rally and defeat any attempt to get alongside. 


CHAPTER XV. 

Capt. And as for these whose ransome we have set, 

It is our pleasure one of them depart: — 

Therefore come you with us, and let him go. 

King Henry VI. 

By such simple means, and without resistance, as it might be, did 
1 recover the possession of my ship, the “ Dawn.” But, now that 
the good vessel was in my power, it was by no means an easy thing 
to say what w^as to be done with her. We were just on the verge 
of the ground occupied by the Channel cruisers, and it was prepos- 
terous to ihink of running the gantlet among so many craft with 
the expectation of escaping. iL^is true, we might fall in with 
twenty English man-ot war vessels before w^e met with another 

Speedy ” to seize and order us into Plymouth, had everything 
been in order and in the usual state, but no cruiser would or could 
board us, and not demand the reasons why so large a ship should be 
navigated by so small a crew. It was over matters like these that 
Marble and 1 now consulted, no one being on the quarter-deck but 
the mate, who stood at the wheel, and myself. The cook was keep- 
ing a lookout on the forecastle. The Englishman had lain down, 
in full view, by my orders, at the toot of the mainmast; while Neb, 
ever ready to sleep when not on duty, was catching a nap on the 
booms. 

'* We have got the ship, Moses,” 1 commenced, and the quesr 
tion next arises, what we are to do with her.” 


MILES WALLIIn^GFORD. 14T 

“ Carry her to her poit of destination, Captain Wallingford, to be 
sure. What else can w§ do with her, sir?” 

“ Ay, that is we’l enough, it it can be done. But, in addition; 
to the difficulty ot tour men taking care of a craft of five hundiCd 
tons, we have a sea before us that is coveted with Englisli cruisers." 

‘‘ As tor the four men, you may safely set us down as eight. ] ’ll 
engage we do as much in a blow as eight such fellows as are picked 
up nowadays ’long shore. The men of the present time are mero 
children to those one met with in my youth, Miles!” 

” Keither Neb, nor the cook, nor 1 am a man of other times, but 
are all men of to-day; so you must call us but three, after all. 1 
know we can do much; but a gale may come that would teach us 
our insignificance. As it is, we are barely able to furl the main- 
topgallant-sail in a squall, 'leaving one hand at the wheel, and an- 
other to let go rigging. No, no, Moses; we must admit we are 
rather short-handed, putting the best face on the matter.” 

‘‘ It you generalize in that mode. Miles, my dear boy, I must 
allow tliat we are. We can go up Channel, and ten chances to one 
but we fall in with some \ ankee, who will lend us a hand or two.” 

” We shall be twice as likely to meet with King George’s ships, 
who will overhaul our articles, and v/ant to know what has become 
of the rest of our people.” 

‘‘‘ Then we’ll tell ’em that the rest of the crew has been pressed; 
they know their own tricks too well^ not to see the reasonableness 
of such an idee.” 

“ No officer would leave a vessel of this size with only her master, 
mate, cook, and one man .to take care of her, even had he found a 
crew of deserters from his own ship in her. In such a case, and 
admitting a right to impress from a foreigner at all, it would his 
duty to send a party to carry the craft into port. No, no, Moses; 
we must give all the English a wide berth, now, or they will walk 
us inlo Plymouth, yet.” « 

” Blast the hole! 1 was in it a prisoner, during the Bevvy lushun, 
and never w'ant to see its face ag’in. They’ve got wkat they call 
the Mill Prison there, and it’s a mill that does grinding less to my 
taste than the thing of your’n at Clawbonny. Why not go north 
about. Miles? There must be few cruisers up that-a-way.” 

“ The road is too long, the weather is apt to be too thick, and the 
coast is too dangerous for us, Moses. We have but two expedients 
to choose between — to turn our heads to the westward, and try to 
get home, trusting to luck to bring us up with some American who 
will help us, or steer due east and run for a French port — Bordeaux, 
for instance— where we might either dispose of the cargo, or ship a 
new crew, and sail for our port of destination.” 

‘‘Then try the last, by all means. With this wind, we might 
shove the ship in with the land in the course of two or three days, 
and go clear of every thing! 1 like the idee, and think it can be 
carried oiit. Bordeaux is always full of Americans, and there must 
be men enough to be had for the asking, knocking about the quays." 

After a little further. conversation we determined on this plan, and 
set about carrying it into execution on the spot. In rounding lo„ 
the ship had been brought by the wMnd on the larboard tack, and 
was standing to the northw’ard and westward, instead of to the east- 


148 


MILES WALLI1<IGF0RD. 


ward, the course we now wished to steer. It was necessary, there- 
fore, to wear round and get the ship’s head in the right direction. 
This was not a difficult maneuver at all, and, the Englishman help- 
ing IIS with seeming goodrrwill, it was soon successfully executed. 
When this was accomplished 1 sent the English sailor into the cabin 
to keep Diggins company, and we set a watch on deck of two and 
two. Marble and myself taking charge four hours and four hours, 
In the old mode. 

I acknowledge that 1 slept little that night. Two or three times 
we detected Sennit attempting to haul close up under the ship’s 
stern, out of all question with a view to surprise us, but as often 
would he drop to the length of his tow-rope as he saw Marble’s head 
or mine, watching him above the taffrail, When the day dawned 1 
was called, and was up and on the lookout as our horizon enlarged 
and brightened round the ship. The great object was to ascertain, 
as early as possible, what vessels might be in our neighborhood. 

But a solitary sail was visible. She appeared to be a ship of size, 
close-hauled, heading to the southward and eastward; by steering 
on our proper course, or certainly by diverging a little to the north- 
ward, it would be an easy matter to speak to her. As I could plainly 
see, she was not a-ship-of-war, my plan was formed in a moment. 
On communicating it to Marble it met with his entire approbation. 
Measures were taken, accordingly, to carry it into immediate ex- 
ecution. 

In the first place I ordered Sennit, who was awake, and had been, 
1 believe, the whole night, to haul the boat up and to lay hold of one 
of the boat-tackles. This he did willingly enough, no doubt ex- 
pecting that he was to be received into the ship, under a treaty. I 
stood on the lookout to prevent an attack, one man being abun- 
dantly able to keep at bay a dozen who could approach only by 
ascending a rope hand over hand, while Marble went below to look 
after the two worthies who had been snoring. all night in the cabin. 
In a minute my mate reappeared, leading up the seaman, who was 
still more asleep than awake. This man was directed to lay hold 
of the tackle and slide down into the boat. There being no remedy, 
and descending being far easier than ascending, this exploit was 
soon performed, and we were well rid of one of our enemies. Sen- 
nit now began to remonstrate, and to point out the danger there was 
ot being towed under, the ship going through the water the whole 
lime at the rate of five or six knots. 1 knew, however, that the 
English were too skillful to run the risk of being drowned, unneces- 
sarily, and that they would let go of the tackle before they would 
suffer the boat to be swamped, it was UcKlish work, I allow; but 
they succeeded surprisingly well in taking care of themselves. 

We had more difficulty with Diggins. This fellow had been so 
beastly drunk that he scarcely knew what lie was about when he 
awoke; and Marble rather dragged him on deck and aft to the 
taffrail than assisted him to walk. There we got him at last; and 
he was soon dangling by the tackle. So stupid and enervated was 
the master’s mate, however, that he let go his hold and went into 
the ocean. The souse did him good, 1 make no doubt; and his life 
was saved by his friends, one of the sailors catching him by the 
collar, and raising him into the boat. 


MILES ^WALLINGFORD. 


149 


Sennit availed himself of this accident, to make further remon- 
-gtrances on the subject of having any more men put in the boat. 
It was easy to see, it was as much his policy to get everybody out 
of that little conveyance, as it v^as mine to get all the English into 
ber. 

“ For God’s sake. Captain Walling! ord, knock off with this, if you 
please,” cried the lieutenant, with a most imploring sort of servility 
of manner. “ You see how it is; we can barely keep the boat from 
swamping, with the number we have in her; and a dozen times 
during the niirht I thought the ship would drag her under. Noth- 
ing can be easier than for you to secure us all, it you will let us 
come on board, one at a time.” 

”1 do not wish to see you in irons, Mr. Sennit; and this will 
remove any necessity for resorting to an expedient so unpleasant. 
Hold on upon the tackle, therefore, as I shall feel obliged to cast 
you oft entirely, unless you obey orders.” 

This threat had the desired effect. One by one the men were let 
up out of the forecastle, and sent into the .boat. Cooked meat, 
bread, rum, and water were supplied to the English; and. to be 
ready to meet any accident, we lowered them a compass and Sennit’s 
quadrant. We did the last at his own earnest request, for he seemed 
to suspect we intended sending him adrift, as indeed was my plan, 
at the proper moment. 

Although the boat had now twelve men in her she was in no 
danger, being a stout, buoyant, six-oared yawl, that might have 
held twenty on an emergency. The weather looked promising, too 
— the wind being just a good top-g:dlant breeze tor a ship steering 
lull and by. The only thing about which 1 had any qualms was the 
circumstance that south-west winds were apt to bring mists, and that 
the boat might thus be lost. The emergency, nevertheless, was one 
that justified some risks, and 1 pursued my plan steadily. . 

As soon as all the English were in the boat, and well provided 
with necessaries, we felt at more liberty to move about the ship, 
aud exert ourselves in taking care of her. The man at the wheel 
could keep an eye on the enemy — the ” Dawn ” steering like a 
pilot-boat. Neb was sent aloft to do certain necessary duty, and 
the, topgallant-sails being loose the clew-lines were ovei hauled, and 
the sails set. I did this more to prevent the English ship from sus- 
pecting something wrong at seeing a vessel running oft, before the 
wind, under such short canvas, than from any desire to get ahead, 
since we were already going so fast as to render it probable we 
should pass the other vessel, unless we altered our course to meet 
her. 

Diogenes Billings, the cook, had now a little leisure to serve us a 
warm breakfast, it Mr. Sennit were living, 1 think he would do 
us the justice to say he was not forgotten. We sent the people in 
the boat some good hot coffee, well sweetened, and they had a fair 
share of the other comfortable eatables of which we partook our- 
selves. We also got out, and sent them the masts and regular sails 
of the boat, which was fitted to carry two sprits. 

By this time the stranger ship was within two leagues of us, and 
it became necessary to act. I sent Marble aloft to examine the hori- 
zon, and he came down to report nothing else was in sight. 1 his 


150 MILES WALLINGFORD. 

boded well. 1 proceeded at once to the taffrail, where 1 hailed a 
boat, desiring Sennit to haul her up within comfortable conversing 
distance, Tiiis was done immediately. 

“Mr. Sennit,” 1 commenced, “it is necessary for us to part 
here. The ship in sight is English, and will take you up. 1 intend 
to speak her, and will take care that she knows where you are. By 
standing due east you will easily cut her off, and there can not be a 
doubt of her picking you up.” 

“ For Heaven’s sake, consider a moment, Captain Wallingford,” 
Sennit exclaimed, “ before you abandon us out here, a thousand 
miles from land.” 

“ You are just three hundred and twenty-six miles from Sicily, 
and not much more from the Land’s End, Mr. Sennit, with a wind 
blowing dead for both. Then your own countrymen will pick you 
up, of a certainty, and carry you safe into port.” 

“ Ay- into one of the West India islands; if an Englishman at 
all, yonder vessel is a running West Indiaman; she may take us all 
the way to Jamaica.” 

“ Well, then, you will have an opportunity of returning at your 
leisure. You wished to take me almost as much out of my course; 
or, if not absolutely out of my course, quite as much out of my 
time. 1 have as little relish for Plymouth as you seem to have for 
Jamaica.” 

“ But, the stranger may be a Frenchman— now, 1 look at him, he 
has a French look. ” 

“ If he should be French, he will treat you well. It will be ex- 
changing beet for soup-maigre for a w'eek or two. These French- 
men eat and drink, as well as you English.” 

“But, Captain Wallingford, their prisons! This fellow Bona- 
parte exchanges nobody this war, and if 1 get into France 1 am a 
ruined mao.” 

“ And if 1 had gone into Plymouth, I fear I should have been a 
ruined man, too.” 

“ Remember we are of the same blood, after all — people of the 
same .stock— just as much countrymen as the natives of Kent and 
Suffolk. Old Saxon blood, both of us.” - 

“Thank you, sir; I shall not deny the relationship, since it is 
your pleasure to claim it. 1 marvel, however, you did not let your 
cousin’s ship pass without detaining her.” 

“ How could 1 help it, my dear Wallingford? Lord Harry is a 
nobleman and a captain, and what could a poor devil of a lieu- 
tenant, wiiose commission is not a year old, do against such odds?” 
JNo, no, there should be more feeling and good-fellowship between 
chaps like you and me, who have their way to make in the world.” 

“ You remind me of the necessity of being in motion. Adieu, 
Mr. Sennit. Cut, Moses!” 

Marble struck a blow with the ax on the studding-sail halyards, 
and away the “Dawn” glided, leaving the boat tossing on the 
waves twenty fathoms further astern, on the very first serid of the 
sea. What Mr. Sennit said, 1 could not hear, now, but 1 very 
plainly saw him shake his fist at me, and his head, loo; and 1 make 
no manner of doubt, if he called me anything, that he did not call 
me a gentleman. In ten minutes the boat was fully a mile astern.. 


MILES WALLINGEORD* 


151 

At first Sennit did not appear disposed to do anything, lying mo- 
tionless on the water in sullen stillness; but wiser thoughts suc- 
ceeded, and, stepping his two masts, in. less than twenty minutes 1 
saw his sails spread, and the boat making the best ot its way to get 
into the track ot the stranger. 

It had been my intention, originally, to speak to the strange ship, 
as I had told Sennit; but seeing there tvas no probability of her 
altering her course so as to pass the boat, 1 changed my purpose, 
and stood directly athwart her fore-foot, at about halt a mile’s dis- 
tance. 1 set the Yankee bunting, and she showed the English en- 
sign in return. Had she been French, however, it would have made 
no odds to me, for what did 1 care about my late captors becoming 
prisoners of war? They had endeavored to benefit themselves at 
my cost, and 1 was willing enough to benefit myself at theirs. 

We made our preparations for setting studding-sails now, though 
1 thought ther(5 were signs of a desire in the .Englishman to speak 
me. 1 knew he must be armed, and felt no wish to gratify him, in- 
asmuch as he might take it into his head to make some inquiries con- 
cerning the boat, which, it not already visible from his decks, soon 
must be. 1 was certain the “ Dawn,” deep as she was, would go 
four feet to the Indiaman’s three, and, once past him, 1 had no ap- 
prehensions in the event of a chase. 

The English ship caught sight of the boat when we were about a 
mile on his lee-quarter, with lower and topmast studding-sails set, 
going quite eight knots, on a due- east course. We became aware 
of the fact, by her hoisting a jack at the tore. From that moment 
1 gave myself no concern on the subject of vSennit and his prize 
crew. Twenty minutes later, we saw the ship back her maintop- 
sail, and, by means of the glasses, we plainly perceived the boat 
alongside of her. After some delay, the yawl was hoisted, on the 
deck of the ship, and the latter filled her topsail. 1 had some curi- 
osity to ascertain whal’ would come next. It would seem that Sen- 
nit actually induced the master of the West Indiaman to give chase, 
for no sooner did the vessel gather way than she bore up after us, 
packing on everything that would draw. We were greatly rejoiced 
at having improved the leisure time in making sail ourselves, for 
having a lower studding-sail and two topmast studding-sails on the 
ship, when this race began, I did not feel much apprehension ot 
being overtaken, liy way of making more sure of an escape, how- 
ever, we set the royals. 

When the West Indiaman bore up in chase. We were about two 
leagues ahead of our pursuer. So far from lessening this distance, 
though she carried royal studding-sails, we gradually increased it to 
three, until, satisfied be could do nothing, the master of the strange 
ship took in his light sails and hauled by the wind again, carrying 
the last prize crew in a direct line from England. 1 afterward learned 
that Sennit and his companions were actually landed in the island 
of Barbadoes, after a pleasant passage of only twenty-six days. 1 
make no doubt it took them much longer to get back again, for it 
was certain that not one ot them had reappeared in England six 
months from that day. 

We now had the ship to ourselves, though with a very diminished 
crew. The day was the time to sleep; and relieving each other at 


152 


MILES WALLINGEOKD. 


the wheel, those who were off duty slept most ot the time when they 
were not eating. At six in the evening, however, all hands were 
up, making our preparations for the night. 

At that hour the wind was steady and favorable, the horizon clear 
of vessels of every sort, and the prosi^ects ot a pleasftnt night were 
sufficiently good. The run in the couise of the day was equal to 
one hundred miles, and 1 computed the distance to Brest at some- 
thing less than four hundred miles. By getting in nearer with the 
land 1 should have the option of standirig for any French port 1 
pleased, that Jay between Cherbourg and Bayonne. 

“ Well, Moses,” 1 observed to my old friend and shipmate, when 
we had finished our surveys, ” this looks promising! As long as 
the wind remains in this quarter, we shall do well enough; should 
we actually get in safely, I shall not regret the delay, the credit, of 
having done so good a thing, and of having done it so well, being 
worth as much to me as any interest on capital, or wear and tear of 
gear, can possibly be. As for Mr. Sennit, 1 fancy he is some sixty 
miles off hei e at the southward and westward, and we’ve done with 
him for the voyage.” 

” Suppose he should fall in with the ‘ Speedy,’ and report what 
has happened. Miles?” returned the mate. ‘‘ 1 have been calculat- 
ing that chance. The stranger was standing directly for the frigate’s 
cruising-ground, and he may meet her. We wfill not halloo, till 
we’re out of the wood.” 

” That risk is so remote, 1 shall not let it give me any trouble. It 
is my intention to run in for the land at our fastest rate of sailing, 
and then profit by the best wind that offers, to get into the nearest 
haven. If you can suggest a better scheme, Moses, 1 invite you to 
speak.” 

Marble assented, though 1 perceived he was not entirely free from 
th^ apprehension he had named until the next morning arrived, 
bringing with it no change, and still leaving us a clear sea. That, 
day and the succeeding night, too, we made a capital run, and at 
meridian of the third day aUer the recapture of the “ Dawn,” 1 cal- 
culated our position to be .just one hundred and tour miles to the 
southward and eastward of Ushant. The wind had shitted, how- 
ever, and it had just come oul light at north-east. We went to 
work, all hands ot us, to get in the studding-sails, and to brace up ^ 
and haul att; an operation that consumed nearly two hems. We 
were so busily employed, indeed, as to have little or no time to look 
about us, and my surprise was the less, therefore, when the cook 
called out ‘‘ sail ho!” 1 was busy trimming the main-yard, when 
the announcement was made, and looking up I saw a lugger stand- 
ing toward us, and alread}’^ within long .gunshot. Ijafterward ascer- 
tained that, perceiving us to be approaching her, this craft had lain 
like a snake in the grass, under bare poles, until she thought us 
sufficiently near, when she made /■ail in chase. I saw at a glance 
several important facts: in the first place, the lugger w^as French 
beyond all dispute; in the second, she was a cruiser, public or pri- 
vate; in the third, escape from her, under any circumstances, was 
highly improbable. But why should we endeavor to escape from 
this vessel? The countries were at peace; we had just bought 
Louisiana from France, and paid fifteen millions of dollars for it. 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


153 


thereby not o'my getting the country ourselves, but keeping it out 

the hands of John Bull, and we were said to be excellent friends, 
^gain. Then the “ Dawn ” had extricated herself from English 
clutches, only a day or two before; no doubt the lugger w^ould give 
us all the dd we could require. 

“ She is French, for a thousand dollars, Moses!” 1 cried, lower- 
ing my glass from the first good look of the stranger, ” and by 
keepinsr away two points, we shall speak her in fifteen minutes.” 

‘‘ Ay, French,” rejoined the mate, ” but, blast ’em all round, I’d 
much rather have nothing to do with any of the rogues. I’ll tell 
you how it is. Miles, these are onmoralizing times, and the sea is 
getting to be sprinkled with so many Van Tassels, that I’m afeard 
you and I’ll be just like that dear, good old soul, my mother, and little 
Kitty, to be frightened, or, if not exactly frightened, to be wronged 
out of our just rights.” 

” Little fear of that this time, Moses— this is a Frenchman; as we 
are bound to a French port, he’ll not hesitate to lend us half a doz- 
en hands, in order to help us along,” 

” Ay, and take half the ship and cargo for salvage. 1 know these 
picaroons, and you ought to know ’em too. Miles, for it’s only two 
or three years since you were a prisoner of war among ’em. That 
was a delightful feelin’, I rather conclude.” 

“ Times are altered, Moses, and I’ll show confidence in the 
change. Keep the ship away, ISeb — so; meet her — steer for the 
lugger’s foremast; that will do.” 

Of course, the orders soon brought the two vessels alongside of each 
other. As the lugger approached, we made her out to' be a stout, 
but active craft, of sixteen guns, and apparently full of men. She 
set the ** ‘tricolor ” when half a mile distant, sure of her prey, 
should we turn out to be a prize. We showed him the stars and 
stripes of cour.se, fancying he would treat them as a friend. 

It was not long before both vessels had rounded-to, and prepara- 
tions were ma(ie to hail. 

‘"What sheep’s zat?” demanded one in good broken English. 

” The ‘ Dawn,’ of New York — may 1 ask the name of your lug- 
ger?” 

” ‘ Le Polisson ’—corsair Fran^ais — what you load, eh?” 

‘‘ Sugar and coffee, with cochineal, and a few other articles.” 

” Pestel— Vere you boun’, monsier, sHl vous plait?’' 

” Hamburg.” 

‘‘Diable! — zis is non ze chemin. How you came here, sair, viz 
ae vin at sow-vess?” 

” We are going in to Brest, being in need of a little succor.” 

” You wish salvage, eh! Parbleu, we can do you zat mosh good, 
as well as anodair. ” 

1 was then ordered, privateer fashion, to lower a boat, and to re- 
pair on board the lugger wit^ my papers. When told 1 had no 
stern or quarter- boat to lower, tue Frenchman manifested surprise; 
but he sent ..his own yawl for me. My reception on board the 
” Polisson” was a little free for Frenchmen. The captain received 
me in person, and 1 saw, at a glance, 1 had to deal w’ith men who 
were out on the high seas, with the tear of English prison-ships con- 
istantly before their eyes, in quest of gold. 1 was not invited into 


154 


MILES WALLIKGEOKD. 


the cabin, a crowded, dark and dirtj hole, for, in that day, the 
French were notoriously foul in their vessels, but was directed. tOf' 
show my papers seated on a hen-coop. 

As everything was regular about the register, manifest, and clear- 
ance, 1 could see that Monsieur Gallois was not in a particularly" 
good humor. He had one, whom 1 took to be a renegade English- 
man, with him, to aid in the examination, though, as this man never 
spoke in my presence, 1 was unable precisely to ascertain who he 
was. The two had a long consultation in private, attf^r the closest 
scrutiny could detect no flaw in the papers. Then Monsieur Gal- 
lois approached and renewed the discourse. 

“ Vy. yon have no boat, sair?” he asked. 

“ 1 lost my boat, three days since, about a hundred leagues to the 
southward and westward.” 

” It is not have bad veddair! Why you got no more marins in 
your sheep?— eh?” 

1 saw it would be best to tell the whole truth at once; for were I 
to get any aid from this lugger, the facts, sooner or later, must be 
made known. Accordingly, 1 gave the Frenchman, and his English- 
looking companion, a full account of what had occurred between' 
us and the ” Speedy.” After this narrative, there was another long 
conference between Monsieur Gallois and bis friend. Then the boat 
was again manned, and the captain of the lugger, accompanied by 
his privy counselor and myself, went on board the ” Dawn.” Here, 
a very cursory examination satisfled my visitors of the truth of mjr 
story. 

1 confess, ]. expected some commendation from a Frenchman,, 
when he heard the readv manner in which we had got our vessel 
out of the bands of the Philistines. No such thing; an expressive 
” hon ” had escaped Monsieur Gallois, once or twice, it is true; but 
it was apparent he was looking much sharper for some pretext to 
make us a prize himself, than for reasons to commend our conduct. 
Each new aspect of the affair was closely scanned, and. a new con- 
ference with the adviser was held, apart. 

” Sair,” said Monsieur Gallois, ” I have mosh regret, but your 
sheep is ^on prize. You have been prisonnier to ze Enjilish, ze en- 
emy of la France, and you shall not capture yourself. L’Amerique 
is not at war — is neutral, as you shall say, and ze Americains can- 
not make ze prize. 1 considair your ship, monsieur, as in ze hand 
of ze English, and shall capture him. Mes regrets soht vifs , maisque 
roulezmus? Ze corsair must do his devoir, ze same as ze sheep 
national. 1 shall send you to Brest, vere, if you be not sold par 
un decret, 1 shall be too happy to restore rotrebaUment. Allans T' 

Here was a denouement to the affair, with a vengeance! 1 was to 
be captured, because 1 had been captured. ” Ouce a corporal, al- 
ways a corporal.” As the English had taken me, the French would 
take me. A prize to-day, you must be a prize to-morrow. 1 have 
always thought the case of the ” Dawn ” was the first of the long 
series of wrongs that were subsequently committed on American' 
commerce, in virtue of this same principle, a little expanded and 
more effectually carried out, perhaps, and which, in the end, termi- 
nated by blockading all Europe, (arid interdicting the high season 
paper. 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


155 

1 knew the uselessness ot remonstrating with a rapaoiohs priva- 
teersman. “ Let him send me in. 1 thought to myself, at first: 

it is just where 1 wish to go; once in, the minister must get me 
clear. The fellow will only be the dupe ot his own covetousness, 
and 1 shall profit by it, in the degree that he will be a loser.” 

I presume Monsieur Gallois entertained a very different view of 
the matter, tor he manifested great alacrity in throwing" a crew of 
no less than seventeen souls, big and little, on board us. 1 watched 
these operations in silence, as did Neb and Diogenes. As for Mar- 
ble. he lighted a cigar, took his seat on the windlass, and sat in dig- 
nified anger, ready to explode on the slightest occasion, yet appre- 
hensive he might be sent out of the ship should he betray one half 
of what he fell. Out of the ship neither ol us was sent however, 
the French probably feeling indisposed to be troubled with passen- 
gers in the narrow quarters they had for themselves. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

You are safe; 

Nay, more— almost triumphant.. Listen, then. 

And hear my words of truth. 

Marino Faliero. 

It was just four o’clock, p.m., when the “Dawn” and the 

Polisson ” parted company, the former steering on her old course 
for Brest, while the latter continued her cruise. The lugg«r sailed 
like a witch, and away she went toward the chops of the Channel 
cn a bowline, leaving us to stand toward the French coast, close- 
hauled, also, but on the opposite tack. 

It is scarcely necessary to dwell on the feelings with which we 
four, who were eye-witnesses of all that passed, .witnessed the pro- 
ceedings. Even Diogenes was indignant. As for Marble, I have 
already alluded to his slate of mind, and if 1 had not, the following 
dialogue which took place at sunset (the first that occurred between 
us in private since the second capture— while the French were eating 
their suppers) would serve to explain it. 

“ Well, Miles,” the male dryly observed, “ whatever we have to 
do„ must be done at once. When shall we begin?— in the middle or 
in the morning watch?” 

“Begin what, Mose&V’ 1 asked, a little surprised at the settled 
manner in which he put his question. 

“ To throw these Frenchmen overboard. Of course, you don’t 
mean to let them carry your ship into Brest?” 

“ Why not? We were bound to Brest when we fell in with 
them, and if they will take us there it will only save us the trouble 
of doing it ourselves.” 

“ Don’t be deceived by any such hope. Miles. I’ve been in the 
hands of Frenchmen before 1 knew you, and there is little hope of 
getting out of them, so long as the ship and cargo will pay for de- 
tention. No, no, my dear boy, you know 1 love you better than 
anything on ’arth, my dear old soul ot a mother and little Kitty ex- 
cepted, for it wouldn’t be religious to like you better than my own 
flesh and blood; but after these two, 1 like you better than any one 


156 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 

on 'arth; and 1 can’t be quiet, and see you run your property into the 
fire. Never let the ship go into Fiance alter what has happened, 
if you can help it.” 

” Can we possibly help it? Or do you propose that four men shall 
retake this vessel from seventeen?” 

“ Well, the odds are not so great, Miles,” Marble rejoined, look- 
ing coolly round at the noisy set of little Frenchmen, who were all 
talking together over their soup; certainly not a very formidable 
band in a hand-to-hand encounter, though full of fire and anima- 
tion. ” There are four of us, and only seventeen of them, such ae 
they are. 1 rather think we could handle ’em all in a regular set- 
to, with fists. There’s Neb, he’s as strong as a jackass; Diogenes is 
another Hercules; and neither you nor 1 am a kitten, 1 consider 
you as a match, in a serious scuffle, for the best four among them 
chaps.” 

This was not said in the least boastingly, though certainly the 
estimate of comparative force made by my mate was enormously 
out of the way. It was true, that we four were unusually power- 
ful and athletic men; but it was also true, that six of the French, 
might very well be placed in the same category. 1 was not subject 
to the vulgar prejudice of national superiority, I hope; one of the 
strongest of all the weaknesses of our very weak nature. 1 have 
never yet been in a country, of which the people did not fancy 
themselves, in all particulars, the salt of the earth; though there are 
very different degrees in the modes of bragging on such subjects. In 
the present instance. Marble had not the least idea of bragging, how- 
ever; for he really believed we four, in an open onslaught, fire- 
arms out of the question, might have managed those seventeen 
Frenchmen. 1 think, myself, we might have got along with twice 
our number, taking a fair average of the privateer's men, and re- 
ducing the struggle to the arms of nature; but 1 should have hesi- 
tated a long time in making an open attack on even them. 

Still, 1 began to regard my chances of escaping, should w’^e be sent 
into a French port by the privateer, as far less certain than they had 
appeared at first. Marble had so much to say of the anarchists ip 
France, as he had known them in the worst period of ihe Revolu- 
tion, and so many stories to tell of Sfhips seized and of merchants 
ruined, that my confidence in the right was shaken. Bonaparte 
was then in the height of bis consular power — on the point of be- 
coming emperor, indeed — and he had commenced this new war with 
a virulence and disregard of acknowledged rights, in the detention 
of all the English then resident in France, that served to excite ad- 
ditional distrust. Whatever may be said of the comprehensiveness 
and vastness of the genius of Napoleon as a soldier and statesman, 
1 presume few upright and enlightened men can now be found to 
eulogize his respect for public law. At any rate, 1 began to have 
lively misgivings on the subject; and the consultation between my 
mate and myself terminated in our coming to a resolution to servo 
the French prize crew substantially as we had served the English 
prize crew, if possible varying the mode only to suit the new condi- 
tion of things. This last precaution was necessary, as, in the full- 
ness of my confidence, 1 had made Monsieur Gallois acquainted 
with ail the circumstances of throwing the fender overboard, and 


MILES WALLIKGPORD. 


m 

the manner in which we had got possession of Jhe ship. It was not 
to be expected, therefore, that particular artiflce could be made to 
succeed with him. 

It rnust have been the result of prejudice, and of constant reading 
ot an ides extracted from the English journals, that influenced me* 
but 1 confess it seemed a much easier matter to retake my ship 
from seventeen Frenchmen, than from twelve Englishmen. 1 was 
not so besotted as to suppose surpr ise, or artifice, would not be neces- 
sary in either case; but, had the issue been made up on brute force, 
I should have begun the fray with greater confidence in the first 
than in the last case. All this would have been very wrong in our 
particular situation, though, as a rule and as applied to sea-faring 
men, it might be more questionable. How often, and how. much, 
have 1 seen reason to regret the influence that is thus silently ob- 
tained among us, by our consenting to becoming Ihe retailers of 
other people’s prejudices! One of the reasons why we have so long 
been mere serviles on this point is owing to the incompleteness of 
the establishments of the different leading presses of the country. 
We multiply, instead of enlarging these enterprises. The want of 
concentration of talent compels those who manage them to resort to 
the scissors instead ot the pen ; and it is almost as necessary for an 
American editor to be expert with the shears, as it is for a tailor. 
Thus the public is compelled to receive hashes instead of fresh 
dishes; and things that come from a distance notoriously possessing 
a charm, it gets, the original cookery of London, instead of that oi 
their own countiy. 

Prejudice or not, confidence is not a bad thing when a conflict is 
unavoidable. It may be well to respect your enemy down to the very 
moment of making the charge; but, that commenced, the more he 
is despised, the better. When Diogenes and Neb were told it would 
be necessary to go over again the work- so lately thought to be com- 
pleted, neither of the negroes manifested the least concern. Diogenes 
had been in the Crisis ” as well as Neb, and he had got to enter- 
tain a very Anglican sort of notion of French prowess on the water ^ 
and. as for my own black, he would have followed, without the 
slightest remonstrance, wherever “ Masser Mile please to lead.” 

” They’s only French,” said Diogenes, in a philosophical sort of 
way; ‘‘ we can handle ’em like children.” 

. 1 would not discourage this notion, though 1 saw its foll}^ Tell- 
ing our two supporters to hold themselves ready for an attack. Mar- 
ble and 1 left them, to cogitate and commence the manner of pro- 
ceeding. Whatever was done, must be done that night; there being 
reason to think the ship would get in somewhere, next day. 

The name ot our prize master was Le Gros. He was not aptly 
designated, however, being a little, shriveled, yellow-faced fellow, 
who did not seem to be a Hercules at all. Nevertheless, unlike 
Sennit, he was all vigilance and activity. He never left the deck, 
and, being so near in with the coast, I felt pretty certain we should 
have his company above board all night. Whatever was attempted, 
therefore, must be attempted in defiance of his watchfulness. Nor 
was this all; additional prudence was necessary, since we were so 
near the coast as greatly to increase the chance of our being picked 
up by some other French cruiser, should we even escape from this.. 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


158 

Extreme caution was our' cue, therefore, and Marble and 1 sepa- 
rated, seemingly each to take his repose, with a perfect understand- 
ing on all these points. 

Monsieur Le Gros paid no attention to the state-rooms, or to the 
accommodations below. His whole care was bestowed on the ship. 
Apprehension of falling in with some British cruiser kept his eyes 
wide open, and his gaze constantly sweeping the horizon so far as 
the obscurity would allow. 1 was incessantly on the alert myself, 
stealing up from the cabin, as far as the companion-way, at least a 
dozen times in 'the course of the night, in the hope of finding him 
asleep; but, on each occasion I saw him moving up and down the 
quarter-deck, in rapid motion, armed to the teeth, and seemingly 
insensible lo fatigue, and all the other weaknesses of nature. It was 
useless to attejnpt to find him off his guard, and worn out, Marble 
and myself fell into deep sleep, about three in the morning, out of 
pure exhaustion. As for the two negroes, they slept the entire 
night waiting our summons for their rallying to the wor|t. Neb, 
in particular, had all the absence of responsibility that distinguishes 
the existence of a slave, feeling very much the same unconcern as 
to the nmvements of the vessel, as any other human being feels in 
connection with those of the earth in which he is a passenger. 

It was ten o’clock when 1 awoke, refreshed, but disappointed. 
Marble was still snOring in his berth, and 1 was compelled to give 
him a call. 1 could perceive there was a breeze, and that the ship 
was going through the water fast; by her lurching, she was close- 
hauled. It takes a seaman but a minute or two to throw on his loo^ 
attire, and no time was lost on the present occasion. W bile my 
mate and 1 were thus engaged, the former happened to cast a look 
out of the cabin windows, which were open on account of the 
warmth of the weather, and offered no obstruction to a long view of 
the ocean directly in our wake. 

“Halloo, Miles!” Marble exclaimed; “ b}’- Jove, we are chased! 
Such is the secret of Mr. Frog’s being so much alive this fine morn- 
ing. Yonder comes a frigate, or my name is not Oloff -Marble.” 

A frigate there was, sure enough. She was about two leagues 
astern of us, and resembled a pyramidal cloud moving along the 
water, so completely were her spars covered with canvas. That she 
was an Englishman was more than probable, from the cruising 
ground as well as Irom the tact of the prize crew running from 
her. In that day, no F rench ship-of-war loitered long at any par- 
ticular point, her enemies being so numerous as to render pursuit 
certain, ere many hours could elapse. After determining these facts 
in our minds. Marble and 1 went on deck. 

My first look was ahead. To my deep regret, there lay the land, 
actually within three leagues of us! The wind was Iresh at north- 
east and Monsieur Le Gros appeared to be steering for a group of 
islands that lay a little, and ever so little, on our lee bow. Bre^t 
was out of the question; if we could get in with the land, among 
these islands, it- was as much as we could do, before the racer 
astern would be up to us. The Frenchmen were evidently alarmed; 
an English prison-ship, with all its known horrors, being very 
vividly placed before their eyes. Monsieur Le Gros screamed, and 
^ave twenty orders in a minute, while the other sixteen men made 


MILES WALLIIs^GFORD. 


159 


more noise than would be heard among a thousand Americans. 
Heavens! what a clamor these chaps kept up, and all about noth- 
ing, loo, the ship having every stitch of canvas on her that would 
draw. I felt like the Arab who owned the rarest mare in the 
desert, but who was coming up with the thief who had stolen her^ 
himself riding an inferior beast, and all because the rogue did not 
understand the secret of tnaking the mare do her best. “ Pinch her 
right ear, or 1 shall overtake you,” called out the Arab; and more 
than twenty times was 1 disposed to trim the “ Dawn’s ” sails, and 
send Neb to the wheel, in order to escape the disgrace of being over- 
hauled by the frigate. There was a chance for me, however, in this 
second recapture, and 1 thought it preferable to let things take their 
course. My new conquerors might be mystified, whereas, there was 
little hope for us, should Monsieur Le Gros get in, after such an 
uproar. 

In little more than an hour’s time, the “ Dawn ” began to shorten 
sail, hauling up her courses and topgallant-sails, rocks showing 
themselves within half a mile of her. A large boat met us here, 
coming alongside as soon as certain who we were. ” The people 
in this boat were fishermen, and were so much accustomed to all 
the movements of the coast, that they understood the nature of the 
affair as soon as they were apprised of our character. Of course, 
they were eagerly questioned touching the possibility of the 
“ Dawn’s ” being carried in through any of the rocky-looking 
passages that lay before us. Monsieur Le Gros looked very blank 
when he was told that all his hopes lay in there being sufficient 
water in one channel, and of that the fishermen confessed their own 
ignorance. It the noise and confusion were annoying before these 
men came alongside, it was astounding afterward. All this time 
the frigate was drawing near fast, and half an hour would certainly 
bring her within gunshot. There is something intoxicating in k 
race. 1 felt a strong desire to get away from the Englishman at the 
very moment 1 believed my chances for justice would be worst in 
the hands of the French. Feeling the necessity of losing no time, 1 , 
now made a lively appeal to Monsieur Le Gros. myself, proposing 
that we should both go in with the fishing-boat and examine the 
passage ourselves. By using proper activity, the whole might be 
done in a quarter of an hour; we should then know whether to carry 
the ship in, or to run on the rocks and save what we could of the 
cargo, by means of lighters. 

Order on board ship is out of the question without coolness, silence 
and submission. A fussy sailor is always a bad sailor; calmness 
and quiet being the great requisites for the profession, after the 
general knowledge is obtained. No really good officer ever makes 
a noise except when the roar of the elements renders it indispensa- 
ble, in order to be heard. In that day, French ships-of-war did not 
understand this important secret, much less French privateers. 1 
can only liken the clamor that was now going on in the “ Dawn’s ” 
lee-gangway to that which is raised by Dutch fishwomen on the 
arrival of the boats from sea with their cargoes. To talk of Billings- 
gate in comparison with these women is to do the Holland and 
Flemish ladies gross injustice, English’phlegm being far more silent, 
than Dutch phlegm. No sooner w'us my proposition made than it 


160 


MILES WALLIMGFORD. 


^as accepted by acclamation, and the privateersmen began to pour 
Into the boat heels overhead, without-order, and 1 may say without 
orders. Monsieur Le Gros was carried oft in the current, and, when 
the fishermen cast off, but three Frenchmen were leit in the ship; 
all the others had been swept away by a zeal to be useful, and that 
was a little quickened, perhaps, by the horrors of an English prison- 
snip. 

Even Diogenes laughed at the random manner in which we were 
thus left in possession of our own. There is no question that the 
French intended to return, while there is no question it was also 
their intention to go. In short, they' were in a tumult, and acted 
under an impulse instead of under the government of their reason; 

“ You will have the complaisance, Monsieur Wallingford,” cried 
•Le Gros, as the boat started away from the ship’s side, ” to fill the 
topsail, and run for the passage, when we wave our hats.” 

” Ay, ay,” 1 answered; ” leave it to me to fill the topsails and to 
give the John Bulls the slip.” 

This was said in French, and it drew cries of “Bon!” and of 
"Vive la France!” from all in the boat. What the fellows thought, 
I will not pretend to say; but if they thought they were to get on 
board the " Dawn ” again, they did not know the men they left 
behind them As for the Frenchmen who remained. Marble and I 
could have managed them alone; and I was glad they were with us, 
rsince they could be made to pull and haul. 

The ship was under her three topsails, spanker, and jib, when 
Monsieur Le Gros thus singularly gave her up to my control; the 
mainyard lying square. My first step was to fill the topsail and 
gather way on the vessel. This "was soon done; and keeping away 
I stood on toward the rocks, which soon bore on our w^eather bow, 
determined to run as near them as I dared, thinking to frighten the 
Englishman so much as to induce him to keep at arm’s length. I 
might cast away the ship, it is true; but even this would be prefera- 
ble to falling again into English hands, with all the occurrences still 
^30 recent. A year or two later, the affair of the ” Speedy’s ” men 
might be forgotten; but while a thing is fresh there is always some 
danger of its creating feeling. At lea^t, thus I reasoned, and thus 
1 acted. 

Once more 1 had the " Dawn ” under my own orders; and could 
I keep the frigate out of gunshot, I cared very little for Monsieur 
Le Gros. At first, the privateersmen supposed that, in filling away, 
1 merely intended to further their views; but no sooner did they 
perceive the ship standing on to leeward of the passage, than the 
truth seemed to flash on their befogged faculties. Tins was not 
until the depth of wmter was ascertained to be sufficient for their 
purposes; and such a flourishing of tarpaulins and greasy caps as 
succeeded, 1 had not witnessed for many a day. All these signals 
and calls, however, were disregarded; but away went the " Dawn,” 
with her yards just rounded in a point, with the wind fairly abeam, 
coasting along as near the islands as 1 thought it at all prudent to 
venture. As for the frigate, she was still keeping her luff, in order 
to get far enough to windward to make sure of her prey. At this 
anoment, the two ships might have been a league asunder. 

Monsieur Le Gros was no sooner aware of the trick 1 had played 


MILES WALLINGFORD. , 


IGl 


him, than out he dashed with his fishing-boat, making sail in chase, 
and helping his dull craft alon^ with halt a dozen oars, Seeing 
• this, 1 let the foresail drop, and sheeted home and hoisted the niain- 
topgallant-sail; not that 1 felt at all afraid of the boat, but because 
it was my wish to avoid bloodshed, if possible. Among the other 
absurdities the French had committed, in their haste to get way 
from the frigate, was that of leaving six or eight muskets, with sev- 
eral cartridge-boxes, behind them. With these weapons, it would 
have been easy for us to have given, the privateeersman such a 
hint, as would not fail to keep them at bay. Then 1 always had 
my pistols, which were not only valuable implements, but were 
double-barreled, and well loaded. Our only ground of alarm, there- 
fore, came from the Englishman. 

Possibly Monsieur Le Gros thought differently, for his chase was 
animated and apparently in earnest. But, notwithstanding all his 
zeal, the Dawn ” left him astern, going through the water at the 
rate of about six knots. But the frigate was coming up at the rale of 
eight knots, making it certain that she would get us under her guns 
in an hour two at most, unless some great advantage was obtained 
over her by means of the complicated navigation and shallow water.. 

When at Bordeaux, the previous 5 ’^ear, 1 had purchased a chart of 
the French coast, with a book containing dirtctions similar to those 
which are to be found in our own “ Coasting Pilot.” As a matter 
of course, ] had them both with me, and I found them of great serv- 
ice on this occasion. The text described the islands we were near 
as being sejjarated by narrow channels of deep water, in which the 
danger was- principally owing to sunken rocl^. It was these rocks 
that had induced the fishermen to pronounce the passages impracti- 
cable; and my coasting directions cautioned all navigators to be 
wary in approaching them. The “Dawn,” however, was in pre- 
cisely the situation which might render these rocks of the last serv- 
ice toiler; and preferring shipwreck to seeing my vesscd in either 
English or French hands, again 1 determined to trust to the very 
dangers of the navigation as my safeguard. 1 might go" clear of the . 
bottom, but it was certain, it 1 kept outside, 1 could not escape 
from the frigate. An accidental occurrence, in connection with the 
boat, favored us, and 1 was not slow to profit by the advantage it 
offered. Finding it impossible to come up wiili the ship by keep- 
ing in her wake. Monsieur Le Gros bad taken a short cut, in the 
boat, between some islets that we were obliged to round, and be ac- 
tually came out ahead of us. Instead of endeavoring to close with 
the ship, however, he led into an excessively narrow passage, mak-. 
ing furious gestures tor us to follow. This was at the instant when 
the frigate fired her first gun at us, the shot of which just fell a very 
little short Did we pass the channel in which Monsieur Le Gros had 
carried the boat we should fall to leeward of the whole group of 
islands— or inlets would be tlie better word— wiien all would literally 
depend on our heels. There was but a moment in which to decide; 
in another minute, the ship would be past the opening, which could 
only be regained by tacking, if it could be regained at, all. I gave 
/ Ibe order to luff. 

Our three Frenchmen, fancying themselves now certainly bound 
to la M/d France, were as active as cats. Neb and Diogenes throw- 

c 


102 


MILES WALLIIfGFOIlE. 


ing their powerful force on the braces with a good Will too, we 
soon had the “ Dawn ” braced siiarp up, heading well to windward 
ot the passage. Alonsieiir Le Gios was delighted. Apparently, he 
thought all was right again; and he led the way, flourishing both 
hands, while all in the boat, fishermen inclusive, weie bawling and 
shouting, and gesticulating in a way that would certainly have 
confused us, had 1 cared a straw about them. I thought it well 
enough to follow the bout; but as tor their cries, they were disre- 
garded. Had Monsieur Le Gros seen fit to wait for the ship in the nar- 
rowest part ot the inlet, he might have embarrassed us; but, so far 
from this, he appeared to be entirely carried away by the excitement 
of the chase, and w'as as eager to push ahead as a boy who was 
struggling to be first in at the goal. 

It was a nervous instant when the “ Dawn’s ” bow first entered 
the narrow passage. The width from rock to rock, speaking only 
of visible things, might have been thirty fathoms; and this strait 
narrowed, rather than widened, for several hundred dfeet, until it 
was reduced fully one-third. The tide ran like a mill-tail, and it 
w^as, perhaps, lucky for us that there was no time for reflection or 
itresoluiion; the aspect of things being so serious as might well have 
thrown the most decided man into uncertainty and doubt. The 
current sucked the vessel in, like the Maelstrom, and we were whirl- 
ing ahead at a rale that would have split the ship from her keel to 
her top-timbers had we come upon a sunken rock. The chances, 
were about even; for 1 regarded the pilotage as a very random sort 
of an affair. We glanced on in breathless expectation therefore^ 
not knowing hut eacl\ instant would involve us in ruin. , 

This jeopardy endured about five minutes. At the end of that 
brief space, the ship had run the gantlet for the distance of a mile, 
driven onward by the current rather than by the wind. So tremen- 
dous was our velocity in the narrowest part, that I actually caught 
myself grasping the rail of the ship, as we glanced past the rocks^ 
as if to keep myself from a fall. The French gave a loud and gen- 
eral shout just as the boat issued out of this race-way into a wide 
capacious bay, within the group of islands, which had the appear- 
ance of forming a roadstead of some note. There was a battety on 
the end of llie last island, a light-house, and a cluster of fishermen’s 
huts; all indicating that the place was one ot considerable resort. 

Monsieur Le Gros was waiting for us about two cables’ lengths 
from the place where we issued into the bay, having considerately 
chosen an anchorage for us, at a point commanded by the four six- 
aud-thirt}’’ pounders of the battery. The distance enabled me to look 
about. Witliin the range ot islands was a sort of sound,' quite a 
league in width, and on this sound the main coast presented -several 
bays in which coasters were at anchor. Most of the prominent 
points had small batteries, of no great force as against a fleet, or 
even against a single heavy ship, hut which were sufficiently for- 
midable to keep a sloop-ot-war or a frigate at a respectable distance. 
As all the guns were heavy, a yessel passing through the middle of 
this sound would hardly be safe, more especially did the gunners do 
their duly. By anchoring at the spot where the boat wailed ^or ns,, 
we at once gave up the ship to the privateersman, the battery fiiSi 
mentioned commanding that point completely. As good luck 


MILES WALLINGFOUD. 


163 


^ould have ib, however, an expedient offered, in the direction of the 
wind and tide, which were opposed to. each other, and 1 availed 
myself of the circumstance as promptly as possible. 

Do our best, the “Dawn” could not fetch the spot where the 
hoat had dropped her kedgb. We passed within hail of it,‘ notwith- 
standing, and loud were the calls to us to shorten sail and anchor, 
as we came within hearing. Affecting to be anxious to get up to 
the precise point where the boat lay, 1 mystified Monsieur Le Gros 
in my answers, telling him 1 would stand on a short distance, or 
until I could fetch him, when 1 would tack. As this was intelligi- 
ble it satisfied my captors, though a hundred nHmpm'tes” were 
yelled after us, and “ n'importe ” it was in fact, one spot being just 
as good to anchor in as another, for half a league all round us. 

The ’* Dawn ” did her duty that day, and there wa:s occasion for 
it, the frigate still continuing the chase. The circuit she had to 
make, and the berth she thought it prudent to give the first battery, 
enabled us to gain on her materially. When we passed the boat, 
the Englishman’s upper sails were visible on the outside of the 
island, flying along the rocks at a rate that spoke well of his heels. 
He rounded the point when we were mid-sound, but here the bat- 
tery served us a good turn, for, instead of hauling up close by the 
wind, the English were obliged to run off with the wind free, to 
keep out of harm’s way. Their presence, notwithstanding, was 
probably of great service to the “ Dawn,” for there had been a 
communication between Monsieur Le -^Gros and the batteries, by 
means of a small boat -sent irom the latter, and we should have 
been very likely to have a messenger, in the shape of a shot, sent 
after us, when it was seen we continued to stand across for the 
main instead of tacking for the designated anchorage, had not the 
men in the battery had the higher game of the frigate in view. As 
soon as John Bull got within range, the gunners began to play on 
him, but it w^as at a distance that rendered their fire next to useless. 

Any one in the least acquainted with the movements of ships, will 
understand the advantage we now possessed. The ” Dawn ” was 
beating through a good wide passage, with a young flood breasting 
her to windward, and a steady six-knot breeze blowing. The pas- 
sage between these islands and the main was about four leagues 
long, while that which the fishermen had wished us first to enter 
was near the middle of the group. We were already a mile from 
the boat, and considerably to windward of her, the tfde having done 
that much for us, when Monsieur Le Gros saw fit to lift his kedge 
and commence a new pursuit. He had the sagacity to see that we 
should soon be obliged to tack, on account of the main coast, and 
to stand over toward the island again; accordingly, instead of fol- 
lowing in our wake, he profited by the set of the current, and 
pulled directly to windward, with a view to cut us off. A.11 this we 
very plainly saw, but we cared very little for Monsieur Le Gros and 
his boat. The ship could outsail the last very easily, in such a 
breeze, and it w'as always in our power to tack in raid-channel, in- 
stead of crossing her, or coming near her at all. The frigate gave 
me much more trouble. 

The Englishman, as I afterward learned, was a French-built ship, 
called the ” Forlunee,” or as Jack termed her, npw she had got to 


164 


MILES WALLIN-GFOKD.. 


be designated in the Anglo-Saxon dialect, the “ FortuTiiS^ " which 
was liberally rendered into the vernacular as the “ Kappy-Go- 
Liicky.” She was an old ship, but an exceedingly fast one, and her 
commander had rendered himself famous by the manner in which 
he ventured about on the French coast. This was the third time 
he had gone through this very sound in spite ol tlie batteries, and 
having some experience in the windings and turnings, he was now 
much better able to get along scathless than on the two former oc- 
casions. As soon as he thought himself at a safe distance from the 
'six-and-thirties he hauled up, and made five short stretches near the 
main, where he had much the best of the tide and the whole strength 
of the breeze, and where there was nothing to molest him, the 
usual roadstead being under the island of course. 

The first hour sufficed to let me understand there was no chance 
of escaping the frigate; if we continued to beat up through the pas- 
sage we might reach its western end a little m advance of lier, it’ is 
true, but no hope at all of getting away would remain when we 
again reached the open ocean, and she in-shore of us. In this dilemma. 
Marble made one of his happy suggestions, my merit amounting to 
no more than seizing the riirht moment, and carrying out his idea 
with promptitude. The passage first named lay in a line with us, 
and we had every reason to believe the ship could go through it. 
“When we were invited to enter, the tide was not as high by six feet, 
as it had now risen to be, and my mate suggested the expedient of 
trying it in going out. 

“ The Englishman will never dare follow, on account of the bat- 
tery which lies on the side of it,” he added, ‘‘ whereas the French 
will not fire at us, believing us to be escaping from a common 
enemy.” 

TJie whole force of what had been said flashed upon me in an in- 
stant. I set the tricolor over a British ensign, to cause the people 
of this second battery to think us an English prize, and stood straight 
for the pass, just without which lay a small brig at anchor. " In 
order to make the deception more complete we hauled up our 
courses, and let run the topgallant halyards, as it ready to bring up. 
Seeing this Monsieur Le Gros fancied we were about to anchor 
under the battery, and that we had hoisted our flags to taunt the 
English, for caps and hats were waved in exuliation in the boat, 
then distant trom us a quarter of a mile. We passed close to the 
brig, which greeted us with acclamations and “ mves la trance,'"' as 
we swept by her. My eye was on the battery the whole time. . It 
was built to command the roadstead, and without any reference to 
the pass, which no enemy would be apt to attempt. It is true, two 
heavy guns bore on this entrance, but they were in a detached wmrk, 
that was never manned except in emergencies. 

1 drew a long breath, and felt n mountain removed from my very 
soul, as the ship passed out of the range of the last gun in the little 
semicircle. The soldiers were making gestures to us to indicate we 
were getting too far West for a good bf-rth, but we heeded them not. 
Instead of shortening sail the fore and main tacks were boarded, 
and the topgallant-sails set. This repealed our intention, and the 
clamor on the shore even reached the ship. Preparations were 
making to get a piece of light artillery to bear on us, and some 


MILES WALLINGEORD. 


165 


twenty gunners began to scamper toward the detached battery. 
The whole thing was now reduced to a sheer race. We passed the 
last battery tea minutes betore the French could reach it, the latter 
having to go round a considerable bay; and six minutes later we 
went out to sea, with the American ensign, and jacks and pennants 
flying at each mast-head, and wherever else such an emblem of tri- 
umph could be shown ! 


CHAPTER XVII. 

O, I am out of breath in this fond chase 1 
The more my prayer, the lesser is my gi'ace. 

Shakespeare, 

Marble and 1 looked each other in the face, and then burst into 
a laugh, as the French fired a single shot from the two-gun battery, 
which flew beyond us, but which could scarcely hit us on account 
of some interveiiing rocks. 1 altered the course of the ship in order 
to beat a little ihore out of the ranee; after this, we had nothing to 
fear from the French. The boat did not attempt to follow us, and 
thus ended our communication with “ Le Polisson ” and her people at 
that time. As for “ La Fortunee,” it would require at least four iiours 
for her to bear round the end of the cluster of islands, and seeing 
the hopelessness of doing this in time to overtake such a ship as the 
" Dawn,” her commander made a dash in at the unfortunate brig, 
which he actually succeeded in cutting from the roadstead, in spite 
of all the defenses of the place. The last 1 heard of these gentle- 
men was the reports of the guns that were exchanged betweerf the 
battery and the frigate, while the last 1 mw of them was the smoke 
that floated over the spot, long after the islands had sunk beneath 
the horizon. The “ Dawn ” stood directly out' to sea, with the 
wind still at the northward, though it had drawn more through the 
pass in shore. 

“ Well, Miles,” cried Marble, as he gnd* I sat eating our dinner 
on deck, where Neb had been ordered to serve it, ” you know wliat 
1/ve always said of your luck. It’s a proof agin everything but 
Providence! Die you must and will, some of these times; but not 
until you’ve done something remarkable. Sail with you, my boy? 
I'consider your company a standing policy of insurance, and have 
no sort of consarn about fortin, while I’m under your orders. With 
any other man, 1 should be nothing but a bloody hermit, instead of 
the dutiful son and affectionate uncle 1 am. But, what do you 
mean to perform next?” 

‘‘ 1 have been thinking, Moses, our best step will be to shape our 
course for Hamburg, whither we are bound. This northerly wind 
can’t last long at this season, and another south-wester would just 
serve our turn, in ten days, or a fortnight, we might make our 
haven.” 

“ And then those French chaps that are attacking yonder kid of 
pork, as if it were a wild beast; the fellows never saw good solid 
food before!” 

“ Feed them well— treat them well— and make them work. They . 
would never think of troubling us: nor do 1 suppose they know any- 
thing of navigation. 1 see they smoke and chew; we will give ’em 


166 MILES WALLINGFOPtD. 

as-much tobacco as their hearts can wish, or their mouths hold, and 
this will keep them in good humor.” 

“And John Bull?” 

“ Why, John is another sort of a person to deal with, certainly, 
lam not sure that a third English cruiser tvould molest us. We 
can keep our own secret concerning Sennit and his party, and we 
may not meet with another, after all. My plan is to run close in 
with the English coast, and show our colors boldly; now, nine in 
ten of the British men-of-war will let ns pass unquestioned, believ- 
ing we are bound to London, unless they happen to have one of 
those pressing gentry, like Sennit, on board. 1 have often been told 
that ships which pass close in with the English coast generally 
pass unquestioned; by the lar^e craft, uniformly; though the}^ may 
Lave something to apprehend from the brigs and cutters. Your 
small fry always give the most trouble, Moses.” 

“We have not found it so this v’y’age. Miles. However, you're 
not only captain, but you’re owner; and I leave .you to paddle your 
own canoe. We must go somewiiere; and 1 will riot say your plan 
is not as good as any I can start, with thirty years more of ex- 
perience.” 

- We talked the matter over, canvassing it in all its bearings, until 
it was settled to aiiopt it. 

The ship was steered large, until the French coast was entirely 
sunk; and then we trimmed her by the wind, heading up as near to 
our churse as the breeze would permit. Nothing occurred in the 
course of the remainder of the day to produce either trouble or un- 
easiness, though my three F renchmen came to certain explanations 
with me, that at first menaced a little difficulty. They refused to 
work; and I was compelled to tell them I should put them on 
board the first English vessel-of-war we met. This iiad the desired 
effect; and, after an amicable discussion, I agreed to pay them high 
wages on our arrival in a friendly port; and they agreed to serve 
me as well as they knew how. Seven men were rather less than 
half a crew for a vessel of the “ Dawn’s ” size, but it was possible 
to get along with that number. The steering was the hardest part of 
the duty— neither of the Frenchmen being able to take his trick at 
the helm. We got along with the necessary work however, £nd 
so glad were we all to be rid of both English and French, that I 
hazard little in saying we would have endured twice as much, 
cheerfully, could we be certain of meeting no more of their cruisers. 
Providence had otdered matters very differentl}^ 

That night the wind shifted to the southward and westward. 
We braced in the yards, and brought the strip to her course; but 1 
thought it best not to carry sail hard in the dark. Accordingly, 1 
left orders to be called at sunrise, Marble having the watch at that 
hour. When 1 came on deck, in consequence of this summons, I 
found my mate examining the horizon with some earnestness, as if 
he were looking for strangers. 

“ We are a merry pait^ this morning. Captain Wallingford,” 
Marble cried out, as soon as he saw me. “ 1 have found no less 
than six sail in sight, since the day dawned.” 

“ 1 hope that neither is a lugger. I feel more afraid of this 
Polisson,’ just now, than of all the names in Christendom. That 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 167 

fellow must be cruising in the chops of* the Channel, and we are 
working our way well in to'ward that part of the world.” 

“ 1 hope so, too, sir; but this chap out here at north-west has a 
siispicfous, lugger-like look. Jt may be that 1 see only the head of 
his topsails, but they are amazingly like luggs!” 

1 now took a survey of the ocean for myself. The vessel Marble 
distrusted, I unhesitatingly pronounced to be a lugger; quite* as 
likely the “ Polisson ” as any other craft. The other four vessels were 
all ships, the five forming a complete circle, of which the “ Dawn ” 
was in the center. The lugger, however, w^as some miles the 
nearest to us, while as to the strangers, if they saw each other 
across the diameter of the circle at all, it was as much as was pos- 
sible. Undei'the circumstances, it struck me our wisest w^ay was 
to keep steadily on our course, like honest people. IMarble' was of 
the same opinion, and, to say the truth, there was little choice in 
the matter, the ship being so completely surrounded. The worst 
feature of the case was our position, which would be certain to draw 
all the cruisers to the center, and consequently to ourselves.” 

Two hours produced a material change. All five of the strangers 
had closed in upon us, and we were now able to form tolerably ac- 
curate notions of their characters. The two astern, one on our lar- 
board and one on our starboard quarter, were clearly heavy vessels 
and consorts, though of what nation it was not yet so easy to de- 
cide. That they were consorts was apparent by their signaling one 
another, and by the manner in which they were closing; as they 
carried studding-sails, alow and aloft, they were coming up with 
us fast, and in all probability would be alongside in t\\o or three 
hours more. 

Two of the ships ahead struck me as frigates, having their broad- 
sides exposed to us; we had raised one line of ports, but it was pos- 
sible they might turn out to be two-deckers; ships^of-war they were 
beyond all question, and 1 fancied them English from the square- 
ness of their upper sails. They, too, wore couscrts, making signals 
to each other, and closing fast on opposite tacks. The lugger was 
no longer equivocal; it was .the “ Polisson,” and she was standing 
directly for us, though it was ticklish business, since the remaining 
ship, a corvette, as 1 fancied, was already in her wake, carrying sail 
hard, .going like a witch, and only about two leagues astern. 

Monsieur Gallois had so much confidence in his heels that he 
stood on, regardless of his pursuer. I thought it best to put a bold 
face on the matter, knowing that sufficient time might be wasted to 
enable the sloop- of-war to get near enough to prevent the privateer 
from again manning us. My princial apprehension was, that he 
might carry us all off, in revenge for what had happened, and set 
fire to the ship. Against either of these steps, however, 1 should 
offer all the resistance in my power. 

It was just ten o’clock when the ” Polisson ’’ ranged up abeam 
of us the second time, and we hove-to. It was evident the French 
recognized us, and the clamor that succeeded must have resembled 
that of Babel, when the people began first to converse without 
making themselves understood. Knowing we had no small boat. 
Monsieur Gallois lost no lime, but, lowering a yawl of his own, he 
came alongside of us in person. As 1 had commanded the three 


168 


MILES WALLIMGEOEI). 


Frenchmen to remain beMw, he found no one on deck but Marble, 
Diogenes, Neb, and myself. 

“"Parbieu, Monsieur Yallingfort!” exclaimed the privateersman, 
saluting me very civilly, notwithstanding appearances-r-“ hien 
extraoMinaire ! Vad you do vid me men?— eh! Put ’em in ze 
zea, comma mec la Anglais?'' 

hwas spared the necessity of any explanation, by the sudden ap- 
pearance of my own tiiree prisoners, who disregarded my orders, 
and came rushing up to their proper commander, open-mouthed 
and fided with zeal to relate all that had passed. The whole three 
broke out at once, and a scene that was sufficiently ludicrous fol- 
lowed. It was ^a continued volley of words, exclamations, oaths, 
and compliments to the American character, so blended, as to ren- 
der it oUt of the question that Monsieur Gallois could understand 
them. The latter found himself obliged to appeal to me. 1 gave a 
very frank account of the whble affair, in English; a language that 
my captor understood much better than he spoke. 

Monsieiu’ Gallois had the rapacity of a highwayman, but it was 
isingularjy blended with French politeness. . He had not always 
been a privateersman — a calling that implies an undue love of gold, 
and he was quite capable of distinguishing between right and wrong 
in. matters in which his owii pocket had no direci concern. As soon 
as he comprehended the affair, he began to laugh, and to cry 
“ Bonl” 1 saw he was in a good humor, and not likely to resent 
what had happened; and 1 finished my bistory in somewhat sarcastic 
Janguage, portraying Monsieur Le Gros’s complaisance in quitting 
the ship and in piloting her about the bay, a little dryly, perhaps. 
There were sundry “ sacr-r-r-es” and “ bates" uttered the while; but 
all came out freely and without anger, as if Monsieur Gallois thought 
Si good joke the next thing to a good prize. 

“ Tenez, mon ami!" he cried, squeezing my hand, as he looked 
round at the corvette, now Jess than a league distant. “ You are 
vat you Anglais call ‘good fellow.’ J' admire' toir a esprit I Tou 
have escape adniirablement, and 1 shall have mfs regrets not to ’ave 
oppoxtunite to cuUiver rotre connaissance.» Mais, 1 most laafs — mille 
pardons— yoM have non tod much peep’s, mais c'est impossible 
d' abandonner mes compatriots. Allans^ mes en;fants; au cdnot." 

This was the signal tor the French to quit us; the three men 1 
had Shipped taking their departure without ceremony. Monsieur 
Gallois was the last in the boat, of course; and he found lime to 
squeeze my hand once more, and to renew his " rijs regrets ” ai not 
having more leisure to cultivate my acquaintance. The corvette 
wap already so near, as to render it necessary for the “ Polisson” to 
be in motion; another time, perhaps, we might be more fortunate. 

In this manner did 1 part from a man who had not scrupled to 
seize me in distress, as he would a waif on a beach. By manning 
me, the prize crqw would have fallen into the hands of the enemy; 
and making a merit of necessity, Monsieur Gallois was disposed to 
be civil to those whom he could not rob. Odd as it may seem, 1 
felt the itifluence of this manner to a degree that almost reconciled 
me to the act before committed, although the last was just as profli- 
gate and illegal as any that could w^ell be committed. Of so much 
.more importance, wdth the majorily of men, is manner than matter; 


MILES WALLINGEORD. ' 169 

a very limited few alone knowing how to give to the last its just 
ascendency. 

The “ Polisson ” was not long in gathering way^ after her boat 
was hoisted in. She passed, on the crest of a wave, so near, that it 
was easy to distinguish the expressions of her' people’s faces, few ot 
which discovered the equanimity of that of their commander’s; and 
to hear the incessant gabbling that was kept up on board her day 
and night, from “mom till dewy eve.’’ IVJ. Gallois^ bowed com- 
plaisantly, and be smiled as amiably as if h^ never had put a hand 
in another man’s pockety, but his glass was immediately tinned 
toward the corvette, which now began to give him some little un- 
easiness. Manning us, indeed, with that fellow surging ahead at 
the rate he was, would have been quite out of the question. 

Being reduced to our old number of four, I saw no use in work-, 
ing ourselves to death, by filling the topsail, with the certainly the' 
-sloop-of-war would make us round-to agaip. The “ Dawn,” there- 
fore., remained stationary, waiting the issue with philosophical 
patience. 

“ There is no use, Moses, in endeavoring to escape,” 1 remarked; 
“ we afe not strong-handed enough to get sail on the ship before 
the fellow will be up with us.” 

“ Ay, and there goes his bunting, and a gun,” answered the mate^ 
“ The white English ensign, a sign the chap is under some admiral, 
or vice, or rear of the whUe, while, if 1 mistake not, the two frigates 
show blue fiags— if so, ’tisa sign they’re not. consorts.” 

The glass confirmed this, and we were left to suppose that all 
three Englishmen did not belong to the same squadron. At this 
moment, the state ot the game was as follows: The “ Dawn” was 
lying-to, with her fore^course up, mainsail furled, main-topsail 
aback, and topgallant yards on the caps, jib and spanker both set. 
The •“ Polisson ” was flying away on the crests of the seas, close- 
hauled, evidently disposed to make a lee behind the two frigates to 
windward, which we took for, and which it is probable she knew to 
be, French. The ships to leeward were passing each other within hail ; 
the one to the eastward tacking immediately after, and coming up 
in her consort’s wake; both vessels carrying every t,hing that would 
draw. The ships to the southward, or the supposed Frenchmen, 
might then have been two leagues from us, while those to leeward 
were three. As for the corvette, her course seemed to lie directly 
between our masts. On she came with every thing beautifully 
trimmed, the water spouting from her hawse-holes, as she rose from 
a plunge, and foaming under her bow's, as if made of a cloud. Her 
distance from us was less than a mile. 

It was now that the corvette made signals to the ships to wind- 
ward. They were answered, but in a way to show the parties did 
not understand each other. She then tried her hand with the ves- 
sels to leeward, and, notwithstanding the distance, she succeeded 
better. 1 could see these two frigates, or rather the one that led. 
sending questions and answers to the corvette, although my best 
glass would hardly enable me to distinguish their ensigns. 1 pre- 
sumed that the corvette asked the names of the English, vessels, com- 
municated her own, and let the fact be known that the ships to 
windward were enemies. 


MILES WALLIKGFOKD. 


170 

A few minutes later our affairs, as they were connected with the 
slpop-of-war, came to a crisis. This ship now came on close under 
oiir lee, losing a little of her way in passing, an expedient probably 
thought of to give her a little more time to put her questions, and 
to receive the desired' answers. 1 observed, also, that she let go all 
her bowlines, which seemed much to deaden her way, of which there 
still remained sufficient, notwithstanding, to carry her well clear of 
us. The following dialogue then passed, the Englishman asking 
the questions of course, that bhing a privilege expressly appropriated 
to the public vessel on occasions of this sort: 

“ What ship’s that? — and whither bound?” 

‘‘‘Dawn,’ of New York, Miles Wallingford, from home to 
Hamburg.” 

‘‘ Did not the lugger board you?” 

‘‘ Ay, ay — for the second time in three days.” 

*‘ What is she called?— and what is her force?” 

‘‘ ‘ Le Polisson,’ of Brest— sixteen light guns, and about a hun- 
dred men.” 

‘‘ Do you know any thing of the ships to windward?” 

‘‘ Nothing at all; but I suppose them to be French.’’ 

” Pray, sir, why do you sup— um — um — ook — ook— ” 

The distance prevented my. hearing more. Away went the sloop, 
steadying her bowlines; the call piping belay, as each sail was 
trimmed to the officer of the deck’s fancy. In a few more minutes, 
we could not distinguish even the shrill notes of that instrument. 
The corvette continued on in chase of the lugger, regardless of the 
four other vessels, though the two to windward now showed the 
tricolor, and bred guns of defiance. 

Monsieur Gallois soon after tacked, evidently disposed to stan,d 
for the frigates of his country; when the sloop-of-war immediately 
went round, also, heading up toward these very vessels, determined 
to cut off the lugger, even if it were to be done by venturing within 
range ot the shot of her protectors. It was a bold maneuver, and 
Reserved success, it it were only for its spirit and daring. 

1 thought, however, that the frigatSs of the tricolor paid very 
little attention to the lugger. By altering their course a trifle, it 
would have been in their power to cover her completely from the 
attempts of the corvette; hut instead of doing this, they rather de- 
viated a little the other way, as it desirous of approaching the two 
ships to leeward, on the side that would prevent their being cut off 
from the land. - As neither jjarty seemed disposed to take any notice 
of us, we fill 3d our topsail and stood out of the circle under easy 
canvas, believing it bad policy to have an appearance of haste. 
Haste, however, was a thing out of our power, it requiring time for 
four men to make sail. 

About eleven, or halt past eleven, the four frigates were distant 
from each other rather more than a league, the ‘‘ Dawn” being just 
then half a league from the two Frenchmen and rather more distant 
from the English. Had an action then commenced, we might have 
been a mile out ot the line of fire. Curious to know the result, 1 
Stood on a short distance further, and backed my topsail, to await 
the issue. I was influenced to take this course from an expectation 
that either party, after a conflict with an equal, would be less dis- 


MILES WALLINGEOED. 


171 

posed to molest a neutral, and that 1 might possibly obtain assist- 
ance from the conqueror — few cruisers being found at that day 
without having foreigners on board that they would be willing to 
give to a vessel in distress. As for the account I meant to give to 
the party to whom 1 intended to apply, it would depend oh circum- 
stances, If the French remained on the spot,, 1 could lelate the 
affair with the prize crew of the “ Speedy;” if the English, that of 
the “ Polisson.” In neither case would'an untruth be told, though 
certain collateral facts might be, and probably would have been, 
suppressed. 

I'he Frenchmen began to haul down their light sails, just as we 
hove-to. This was done in a lubberly and irregular rnanner, as if lit- 
tle concert or order prevailed on board them. Marble growled out 
his remarks, deeming the whole proceeding a bad omen for the 
tricolor. It is certain that the f'rench marine, in 1803, was not a 
service to boast of. The English used to say that they seldom got a 
French ship without working for her; and this was probably true, 
as the nation is warlike, and little disposed to submit without an 
effort. Still, France, at that day, could hardly be said to be mari- 
time; and the revolutions and changes she had undergone were not 
likely to favor the creation of a good corps of naval officers. Brave 
men were far more plenty than skillful seamen; and then came the 
gabbling propensity, one of the worst of all human failings, to as- 
sist in producing a disorderly ship. • 

It was a pretty sight to see those four ships strip for the fight; al- 
though the French canvas did not come down exactly according to 
rule. The English, however, were in no hurry; the two tricolor 
men being under their tlfree topsails, spankers, and jibs, with the' 
topgallant-sails cleared up, before John Bull reduced even a royal. 
The latter, it will be remembered, were to leeward, and had to close 
with their adversaries. In doing this, they made one stretch so far 
in our direction, in the hope of tacking in their enemies’ wake, that 
I saw they would probably speak us. 1 confess this was more than 
1 had bargained for; but it was now too late to run, which would 
probably have led to our seizure. I determined, therefore, to await 
the result with dignity. 

Just as the English ships were coming within musket-shot of the 

Dawn.” the French — then distant about a mile and a half to 
the eastward, and half a mile south of us — wore ship, and came 
round with their heads to the westward— or, in our direction. 
As this was coming nearer, instead of moving from them, the 
Englishmen began lo start their tacks and sheets, in order to be 
ready. Their six royals were all flying at the same instant, as 
were their flying-jibs; at the next, the canvas was rolled up, and 
out of sight. Then, the yards, themselves, came down, and all the 
light sails about the ships vanished as a biid shuts its wings. After 
tins the courses were hauled up snug, but the sails were not handed. 
By this time, the leading ship of these two frigates was within a 
cable’s length of us, just luffing up sufficiently to give our weather- 
quarter the necessary berth. 

” By George, Miles,” Marble said, as he stood at my side, watch- 
ing the movements of tlie stranger, “ that second frigate is the 
‘ Speedy!’ 1 know her by the billet, and the distance of her bridle- 


172 MILES^ avallingford. 

port from her head. “You never saw such a space for anchors be- 
fore! Then you may see she is a six-and-thirty, with white ham- 
mock-cloths. Who ever saw that twice at sea?” 

Marble was ri^hi! There came the ” Speedy,” sure enough; and 
doubtless the eyes of Lord Harry Dermond and his officers would be 
on us, in a very few more minutes— the distance between the two. 
frigates being less than two cables’ lengths. In the meantime, 1 
had to attend to the headmost vessel. 

“ Can you tell me anything of the two ships to the southward of 
us?” demanded the stranger, through his trumpet, without any 
preamble. 

“ Nothing but what you see, sir. 1 suppose them to be French; 
and see that they are coming after you.” 

''After us!” exclaimed the English captain in a voice loud 
enough and now near enough, lo be heard without the aid of the 
trumpet, "After us, indeed!’ Ready about— helms a-lee— main- 
topsail haul, there! Haul, of all — ” 

These orders came out at brief intervals, arid in a voice of thuri- 
der, producing prompt obedience. The consetiuence was that this 
ship taci^ed directly on our weather-beam, and so near us that one 
inight have thrown a biscuit aboard her. But she went round beau- 
tifully, scarce losing her way at all, and away she started again, 
looking her enemies directly iii the face. 

“ Now’s our- lime to fill. Miles, and draw ahead. The ‘ Speedy ’ 
will think we’ve been spoken, and all’s right. She must come here 
to tack into her consort’s wake, and a blind man could not avoid 
reading our name, she would be so close. Man the lee-braces, and. 
right the helm. Neb.” • 

Fill we did, and what is more, we put our helm up sa much as to 
leave quite a cable’s length between us and the “ Speedy,” when 
that ship got far enough ahead to tack, or at the point which we had 
just left. I believe we were recognized! Indeed it is not easy to 
imagine otherwise, as the commonest glass would enable the dullest 
eyes to read our name, were other means of recognition wanting. 
But a sailor knows a ship by too many signs to be easily dec^eived. 

The “ Speedy ” was in stays when we saw the proofs of our being 
known. Her head-yards were not swung, but there she lay, like 
one who lingers, uncertain whether to go or to remain. An "officer 
was in her gangway examining us with a glass, and when the ship 
fell oft so much as to bring us out of the range of sight, he ran oft 
and reappeared on the taffrail. This was thie junior lieutenant; I 
could plainly recognize him with my own glass. Others soon joined 
him, and among them was Lord Harry Dermond himself. 1 fancied 
they even knew me, and that all their glasses were leveled directly 
at my face. What a moment of intense uncertainty was that! The 
ships were not a quarter of a mile apart, though the “ Dawn ” was 
increasing that distance last, and by paying broad oft the “ Speedy ” 
would have me under her broadside. Where was her prize crew? 
Not in the “ Dawn,” or certainly Sennit would have communica- 
ted with his commander, and if not in the ship they must be in the 
ocean! Or, were they prisoners below, and kept purposely out of 
sight? All these thoughts must have passed through the minds of 
the English officers. 


MILES AVALLII^GrOED. 


15:3 

1 thought we were lost again, but Providence once more saved us. 
All this time the leading English frigate and the two Frenchmen 
were fast approaching each other. In a few minutes they must en- 
gage, while lhe.“ Speedy ” was left further and turther astern of 
her consort. At this critical instant, oUe of the Frenchmen fired a 
gim of defiance. That report seemed to arouse the “ Speedy," as 
from a trance. Her head-yards came furiously round, all the officers 
vanished from her taftrail, and down went both fore and main 
tachs, and to the mast-head rose all three of her topgallant-sails. 
Thus additionally impelled, the lively craft dashed ahead, and was 
soon in her allotted berth, or half a cable’s length astern of the 
“ Black Prince," as 1 afterward heard was the name of the com- 
manding English ship, on this occasion. 1 may as well add here, 
that the French commodore’s ship was named " La Desiree," and 
her consort " Le Cerf. ’’ Monsieur Menneval was senior officer of the 
French, and Sir Hotham Ward of the English. 1 never knew the 
name of the other French captain, oi* if 1 did 1 have forgotten it. 

My object had been, in bearing up, to get as far as possible 
from the “ Speedy," in order that she might not recogni:2e us, 
and especially that she might not read the name on our stern. 
But this running off so much to leeward, was not precisely the 
berth that one would wish to occupy when a sea-fight is going 
on directly to windward, and within half gunshot. No sooner was 
my Lord Harry Dermond in motion again, therefore, than we 
hauled the ‘‘ Dawn " up with her head to the westward with a view 
to get as soon as possible out of the probable range of the fire. It 
was true, the combatants might vary their maneuvers, so as to ren- 
der all parts of the periphery of a certain oircle around them any- 
thing but agreeable, but the chances were greatly in favor of the 
battle’s beginning, with one party to windward of the other. 

Our ship behaved well on this occasion, getting put of the way 
with sufficient rapidity. While this was in the course of execution, 
I had an opportunity to look after the corvette and the lugger, The 
last was still leading, having managed by means of short tacks to 
work up considerably to windward of the two French frigates. 
Here she had made a last tack to the eastward, intending to run for 
the coast. The sloop-of-war was still in her wake, and was follow- 
ing on her heels at a rapid rate. 


CHAPTER XV HI. 

“ You and I have known, sir.” 

I “ At sea, I think?” 

“ We have, sir.” 

“You have done well by water.” 

“ And you by land.” 

Antony and Cleopatra. 

The reader will understand that 1 offer to his view a shifting 
panorama. A« soon as the " Dawn " had got about a mile and a 
half from the English frigate^, a distance lhat w>ia a little increased 
by the advance of the last toward their enemies, we again backed 
our topsails, for 1 had an ungovernable desire to be a spectator of 
what was to follow. This feeling was common to all tour of us, it 


174 


JdlLES ’\rALLINGFOED. 


being next to impossible to get either Neb or Diogenes to pull a rope, 
for gazing at the trigatos. As for steering, it would have been out 
of the question, I really believe, as no one among us could keep his 
eyes long enough from the combatants to look after our own ship. 

Some persons may think it was foolish not to make the most of 
our time in endeavoring to get as far as possible from the “ Speedy.’' 
Perhaps it was; but, two miles distant, there was really less to ap- 
prehend than might at first appear. It was not probable the En- 
glish would, abandon the French vessels as long as they could stick 
by them, or, until they were captured; and 1 was not so completely 
ignorant of my trade as to imagine that vessels like those of la 
Grande Nation, which were in sight, were to be taKen without do- 
ing their adversaries a good deal of harm. Then, the prizes them- 
selves would require looking after, and there were many other 
chances of our now going scot-free, while there was really very 
small ground of danger. But, putting aside all these considerations, 
curiosity and interest were so active in us all, as to render it almost 
morally impossible we should quit the place until the battle was 
decided. 1 am not absolutely certain the “ Dawn ” would have 
moved, had we been disposed to make her. With these brief ex- 
planations, then, we will turn our attention exclusively to the frig- 
ates. 

By the time we had got the “ Dawn ” Just where we wished her 
to be, the combatants were drawing quite near to each other. The 
'* Speedy ” had carried sail so long, as to be a little to. windward of 
her consort's wake, though halt a cable’s length astern of her. The 
French were in still closer order, and they would soon be far enough 
advanced to bring the leading ship on each side, under fire. I sup- 
posed the opposing vessels would pass about a cable’s length apart. 
All four w^ere under their topsails, jibs, and spankers, with the 
courses in the brails. The “ Black Prince” and the ” Speedy ” 
had their topgallant-sails clewed up, while ” La Desiree ” and “ Le 
Gerf ” had theirs still sheeted home, with the yards on the caps. 
All four vessels had sent down royal-yards. This was fighting sail, 
and everything indicated that Monsieur Menneval intended to make 
a day of it. 

The first gun was fired, on this occasion, from the ” Desiree,” the 
leading French ship. It was directed at the ” Black Prince,” and 
the shot probably told, as Sir Hotham Ward immediately kept 
away,. evidently with a desire to escape being raked. The French 
did tlie same to keep square with their adversaries, and the four 
vessels now ran on parallel lines, though going diflerent ways, and 
a short cable’s length asunder. ” La Desiree” followed up her single 
gun with each division as it woujd bear, until her whole broadside 
was delivered. The “ Black Prince ” stood it all without answer- 
ing, though 1 could see that she was suffering considerably, more 
especially aloft. At length Sir Hotham Ward was heard in the 
affair. He let fly his whole broadside almost simultaneously; and a 
spiteful, threatening roar it was. The smoke now began to hide his 
ship, though “ La Desiree,” by moving toward us, kept ahead of her 
own sulphurous canopy, v 

The “ Speedy ” soon opened on the French commodore; then, by 
the roar astern, I knew “ Le Cert ” w^as at work in the smoke. ■ All 


MILES lYALLIKGFOBD. 


175 

four ships shivered their topsails, to pass' more slowly; and there 
was a minute during which, as it appeared to me, all four actually 
stopped under the fiery cloud they had raised, in order to do each 
other all the harm they could. The Frenchmen, however, soon is- 
sued from behind the curtain, and the cessation in the -firing an- 
nounced that the ships had parted. 1 could not see much ot the 
English, at first, on account of the smoke; but their antagonists 
came out of the fray, short as it had been, with torn sails, crippled 
yards, and “ Le Cerf ” had her mizzen-topmast actually hanging over 
to leeward. Just as 1 got a view of this calamity, I caught a 
glimpse of the “Black Prince,” close hauled, luffing up athwart 
the wake ot her enemies, and manifestly menacing to get the wind. 
The “ Speedy ” followed with the accuracy of clock-work, having 
rather closed with her leader, instead of falling further behind. 
Presently, the “Black Prince” tacked; but, in so doing, down 
came her main-topgallant-mast, bringing with it the yard and the 
sail, as a matter of course. This was a sign that Monsieur Menne- 
val had not been firing a salute. 

The French stood on, after this first rude essay with their ene- 
mies, for several minutes, during which time w'e could see their peo- 
ple actively, but irregularly, employed, in clearing away the wrecks, 
stoppering, rigging, and otherwise repairing damages. “ Le Cerf,” 
in particular, was much troubled with the topmast that was dang- 
ling over her lee quarter, and her people made desperate and tol- 
erably well directed eflorts to get rid of it. This they effected; and 
about ten minutes after the firing had ceased, the French ships put 
their helms up, and went off to the northward, dead before the 
wind, as if inviting their enemies to come on and fight it out fairly 
in that manner, if they felt disposed to pursue the affair any further. 

It was time something of this sort was done, for the delay had 
brought all four vessels so far to the westward, as to leave them 
withiLi a mile of the “ Dawn;” and 1 saw the necessity of again 
getting out ot the way. We filled and Stood off, as fast as possible. 
It was time something of the sort was done, in another sense, also. 
"When Monsieur Menneval bore up, his antagonists were closing fast 
on his weather-quarter, and unless he meant to fight to leeward, it 
was incumbent on him to get out of the way, in his turn. 

Sir Hotham Ward, however, was too skillful a seaman to neglect 
the advantage Monsieur Menneval had given him. The instant the 
French kept away, he did the same; but, instead ot falling bioad 
off before the wind, he luffed again in time, not having touched a 
brace, and crossed the wakes of his enemies, giving a most effective 
broadside into the cabin windows of “ Le Cerf.” To my surprise, 
“ La Desiree ” held on her course, until the “ Speedy ” had repeated 
the dose. The English then wore short round, and were seemingly 
on the point of going over the same thing, when Monsieur Menne- 
val, finding this a losing game, hauled up, firing as his guns bore, 
and “ Le Cerf ” did the same, with her head the other way, destroy- 
ing every thing like concert in their movements. The English 
closed, and in a minute, all four ot the ships were enveloped in a 
common cloud of white smoke. All we could now see were the 
masts, from the trucks down, sometimes aa low as the tops, but 
oftener not lower than the topsail-yards. The reports of the guns 


176 ' MILES WALLINGFORD. 

were quite lapicl for a quarter of pu hour, after which they became, 
much less frequent, though a hundred pieces Of ordnance were still 
at work behind that cloudy screen. 

Several shot flew in our direction ; and two actually passed be- 
tween our masts. Notwithstanding, so keen was the interest we 
Continued to feel, that the topsail was again backed, and there we 
lay, lookers-on, as indifferent to the risks we ran, as if we had been 
ashore. Minute passed after minute, until a considerable period had 
been consumed; yet neither of the combatants became fairly visible 
to qs. Occasionally a part of a hull pushed itself out of the smoke, 
or the wind blew the latter aside; but at no time was the curtain 
suiSciently drawn, to enable us to tell to which nation the vessel 
thus seen belonged. The masts had disappeared — not one remain- 
ing above the smoke, wnichhad greatly enlarged its circle, however. 

In this manner passed an hour. It was one of the most intensely 
interesting of my whole life; and to me it seemed a day, so eager 
was 1 to ascertain some result. 1 had been several times in action, 
as the reader Rnows; but, then, the minutes flew; whereas, now, 
this combat appeared drawn out to an interminable lenglh. 1 have 
said, an hour thus passed before wC could even guess at the proba- 
ble result. At the end of that time the firing entirely ceased. It 
had been growing slacker and slacker for the last half hour, but it 
now stopped altogether. The smoke which appeared to be packed 
on the ocean, began to rise and disperse; and, little by little, the 
veil rose from before that scene of strife. 

The vessel first seen by us was our old acquaintance, the 
“ Speedy.” All three of her topmasts were gone; the fore, just be- 
low the cross-trees ; and the two others near the lower caps. Her 
main-yard had lost one yard-arm, and her lower rigging and sides 
were covered with wreck. She had her foresail, mizzen, and fore 
staysail, and spanker set, which was nearly all the canvas she could 
show. 

•Our eyes had barely time to examine the “ Speedy,” ere the dark 
hull of ‘‘ Le Cerf ” made its appearance. This ship had been very 
roughly treated, nothing standins: on board her, twenty feet from 
the deck, but her foremast; and the head of that was gone, nearly 
down to the top. The sea all round her was covered with wreck; 
and no less than three of her boats were out, picking up. men who 
were drifting on the spars. She lay about a cable’s length from the 
“ Speedy,” and appeared to be desirous of being still further oft, 
as she had no sooner got her boats up, than she dropped her fore- 
sail, and^tood oft dead before it. 

It was in w^atching the movements of “ Le Cerf ” that we first 
got a glimpse of “ La Desiree.” This ship reappeared almost in a 
line with her consort; and, like her steerin«: off before the wind. 
Their common object seemed to me, to y:et within close supporting 
distance oLeach other, and to increase the space between them and 
their enemies. Both these vessels had the tri-colored flag flying at 
the St limps of their masts. As respects the last, however, “La, 
'Desiree” w'as a little better off than her consort — having her fore- 
mast and mainmast standing entire, though her mizzenmast wa& 
gone; close to the deck. What was a very bad affair foEher, her 
foreynrd had been shot away in the slings, the two inner ends lying 


MILES WALLINGEORD. 


177 

on the forecastle, while the yard-arms were loosely sustained by the 
lilts. This ship kept oS under her mainsail and fore staysail. 

The “ Black Prince ” was the last to get clear of the smoke. She 
had every thing in its place, from her topmast cross-treep down. 
The three topgallant-masts were gone, and the wrecks were already 
cleared; but all the topsail-yards were on the caps, and her rigging, 
spurs, and tops were alive with men; as indeed were those of the 
“ Speedy.” This was the secret of the cessation in the action; the 
two English frigates having turned their hands up to secure their 
spars, while the Frenchmen, by running off dead before the wind, 
were in positions not to bring a broadside gun to bear; and the 
cabin-chasers of a frigate were seldom of much use in that day, on 
account of the rake of the stern. It always appeared to me that the 
Spaniards built the best ships in this respect, the English and 
Americans in particular seeming never to calculate the chances of 
running away. I do not say this, in reference to the Spanish ships,, 
however, under any idea that the Spanish nation wants courage — 
for a falser notion can not exist— but merely to state’ their superiority 
in one point of naval architecture, at the very moment when, hav- 
ing built a fine ship, they did not know how to make use of her. 

The first ten minutes after the four combatant's were clear of tlie^ 
smoke, were actively employed in repairing damages; on the part 
of the French confusedly, and 1 make no doubt clamorously; on 
that of the English with great readiness and a perfect understand- 
ing of their business. Notwithstanding this was the general char- 
acter of the exertions of the respective parties, there were exceptions 
to the rule. On board the ” Ld Cerf,” for instance, 1 observed a 
gang of men at work clearing the ship from the wreck of the main- 
mast, who proceeded with a degree of coolness, vigor, and method, 
■w'hicli showed what materials were thrown away in that service tor 
want of a good system;. and chiefly, as I shall always think, because 
the officers did not understand the immense importance of preserv- 
ing silence on board a crowded vessel. The native taciturnity of the 
English, increased by the social discipline of that well-ordered— per- 
haps overordered— nation, has wmn them as many battles on the 
ocean, as the native loquficity of their enemies — increased possibly 
during the reign of les citoyens by political exaggeration — has lost. 
It is lucky for us that the American character inclines to silence 
and thoughtfulness, in grave emergencies; we are noi^y, giirrulous,. 
and sputtering, only in our politics. 

Perceiving that the storm was likely to pass to leeward, we re- 
mained stationary a little time to watch the closing scene. 1 was 
surprised at the manner in which the “ Black Prince ” held aloof 
after the ” Speedy ” had borne up aud was running down in the 
trade of iier enemies, sheering flrst upon one quarter of ” Le Cerf ” 
and then on the other, pouring in a close and evidently a deslructivo 
fire. At length Sir Hotham Ward bore up, and went off before the 
wind also, moving three feet to the ” Speedy’s ”*two, in consequence 
of being able to carry all three of her topsails. It would seem that 
Monsieur Meuneval was not satisfied with the manner in which his 
cousort was ti’eated; for instead of waiting to be assailed in the same 
way. 4ie put Ids helm to port and came by the wind, delivering a 
broadside as bis ship luffed, that soon explained the reason of the 


MILES M’ALLIXGFOKD. 


ITS 

Black Prince's " delay. That ship had been getting up preventers 
to save her masts, and something important must have been cut by 
this discharge from “ La Desiree,” as her mainmast went immedi- 
ately after she received the fire, dragging down with it her mizzen- 
topmast. The English ship showed stuff, however, under circum- 
stances so critical. Every thing on the foremast still drew, and she 
continued on. heading direct for her enemy, noi did she attempt to 
luff until within two hundred yards of her, when she came by the 
wind slowly and heavily, a maneuver that was materially aided by 
the fore- topmast’s following the spars aft, just as her helm must 
have been put to port. “ Le Cerf ” finding the battle was again to 
be stationary, also came by the wind, and then all four of the ships 
went at it again, as ardently as if the affair had just commenced. 

It would not be easy to relate all the incidents of this second com- 
bat. Ppr two hours tile four ships lay within a cable’s length of each 
other, keeping up as animated a contest as circumstances would 
allow. I was particularly struck with the noble behavior of the 
“Black Prince;’*’ which ship was compelled to fire through the* 
wreck of her masts, notwithstanding which, she manifestly got the 
best of the cannonading, as against her particular antagonist “ La 
' Desiree.” 1 can not say that either of the four vessels failed of her 
duty, though I think, as a whole. Sir Holham Ward, showed the 
most -game, probably from the fact that lie had the most need of it. - 
Incumbered b}-- so much wreck, of which it was impossible .to get 
rid while exposed to so heavy a fire, the “ Black Prince,” however, 
was finally dropped by her adversary, “ La Desiree drawing gradu- 
ally ahead, until neither of those two vessels could bring a gun to 
bear. The English now turned to to clear away the wreck again, 
while the Frenchman bent a new fore-course and a new spanker, ' 
those thar had been standing being reduced to rags. 

The “ Speedy ” and the ” Cerf ” had not been idle the while. 
The French vessel played her part manfully, nor was there much 
to choose between them, when the latter wore round and followed 
her consort, exchanging a fire with the “ Black Prince ” in passing 
her. 

Had not the real superiority of the English over the I'rench on the 
ocean now come in play, this combat would have been a drawn bat- 
tle, though accompanied by the usual characteristics of such strug- " 
gles, at the close of the last and the beginning of the present century ; 
or the latter considering an escape a sort of victory. But both parties 
were reduced to the necessity of repairing damages, and this was the 
work to prove true nautical skill. Any man may load and fire a 
gun, but it needs a drained seaman to meet the professional emer- “ 
gencies of w'arfare. A clodhopper might knock a mast out of a 
vessel, but a sailor must replace it. From the beginning of this 
.affair, all of us in the ” Dawn ” had been struck with the order, ... 
regularity, and dispatch with which the ” Black Prince ” and 
“ Speedy ” had inSde and shortened sail, and the quickness and 
resource with which they, had done all tuat seamanship required in 
securing wounded spars and torn sails, while there had been no end 
to Marble’s sneers and comments on the bungling confusion of tlie 
French. This difference now became doubly apparent, when there 
was no smoke nor any cannonading to divert the attention of the 


-MILE6 WALLl^^GFORD. 


179 

respective crews. In half an hour the “ Black Prince ” was clear 
of the wreck; and she had bent several new sails, while the difiS- 
cullies on board her antagonist appeared just then to be at their 
height. This same difference existed between the two other ves- 
sels, though, on the whole, “ Le Cert” got out of her distress 
sooner and more skillfully than her consort. As to the ” Speedy,” 
I must do my old acquaintance, Lord Harry Dermond, the justice 
to say, that he both fought his ship and repaired his damages in a 
highly seaman-like manner. I’ll answer, for it, the Hon. Lieuten- 
ant Powlett had not much to do with either. He bad much better have 
been in his mother’s drawing-room that day, and permitted a more 
fitting man to fill his place. Sennit was then on his way to Bar- 
badoes however, nor do I believe your master of a press-gang ever 
does much before an enemy. 

Fully two hours passed, during which the combatants were busy 
repairing damages. At the end of this time, ” La Desiree ” and Le 
Cerf ” had drawn more than a mile to the eastward of the English 
• ships, the latter following them, as soon as clear of their wrecks, but 
under diminished sail. The ” Black Prince liad actually got up 
three spare topmasts, in the interval, and was now ready toV-et their 
sails. The ‘‘ Speedy ” was less active, or less skillful, though she, 
too, had not been idle. Then the English drove fast toward their 
enemies. Monsieur Menneval bore up in good season, this time, 
edging away, ancf^opening the fire of both ships on his adversaries, 
when they were about halt a mile distant. The effect of this early 
movement was soon apparent, it being a great mistake to reserve a 
ship’s fire, as against an enemy that approaches nearly bows on.- 
M’Donough owed his victory in Plattsburg Bay, to having im- 
proved so favorable a chance; and the French were beaten at the 
Nile, because they did not; though Nelson probably would have 
overcome them under any circumstances; the energy imparted by 
one of his character, more than counterbalancing any little advan- 
tage in tactics. 

On the present occasion, we could see the fire of the French tak- 
ing effect on the ” Black Prince’s ” spars, as soon as they opened 
their batteries. As the matter was subsequently explained in the 
official account, that ship’s lower masts were badly wounded before 
she sent up the new topmasts and, receiving some further injurip.s, 
stick began to come down after stick, until nothing was left of all 
her hamper, but three stumps of lower masts, the highest less than 
twenty feet above the deck. Sir. Hotham Ward was nowMn the 
worst plight he had been in that day, his ship being unable to ad- 
vance a foot, her drift excepted, until everything was cut awjty. 
To the landsman it may appear a small job to cut ropes with axes, 
and thus liberate a vessel from the incumbrance and danger of fall- 
ing spars; but the seaman knows it is often a most delicate and 
laborious piece qf duty. The ocean is never quiet, and a vessel that 
is not steadied by the pressure of her sails, frequently rolls in a w-ay 
to render it no slight task even to maintain one’s footing on her 
decks; frigates and ships of the line frequently proving more incon- 
venient than smaller vessels, under such circumstances. 

There was one fortunate occurrence to the British, connected with 
this disaster. The French had been so thoroughly bent on dis- 


180 - 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


masting the “Black Prince/' that they jjaid little attention to 
the “ Speedy;” that ship actually passing a short distance /o wind- 
ward of her consort, unnoticed and unharmed. As the French 
were going to leeward the whole time, it enabled the “ Speedy ” to 
get out of the range of their guns, before she bore up. As soon as 
this was effected, she followed her enemies, under twice as much 
canvas as they carried themselves. Of course, in less than halt an 
hour, she was enabled to close with “ Le Cert,” coming up on 
one of her quarters, and . opening a heavy tire close aboard her. 
All this time, the “Black Prince” remained like a log upon the 
xvater, trying to get clear of her wreck, the combat driving slowly 
away from her to leeward. Her men worked like ants, and we 
actually heard the cheers they raised, as the hull of their ship forged 
itself clear of the maze of masts, yards, sails, and rigging, in which 
it had so long been enveloped. This was 7io sooner done, than she 
let fall a sail from her spritsail-yard, one bent for the occasion, and 
a topgallant-sail was set to a light spar that had been rigged against 
the stump of the mainmast— the stick that rose highest from her 
deck. 

As the battle, like a gust in the heavens, was passing to leeward. 
Marble and 1 determined to fill, and follow the combatants down, 
the course being precisely that we wished to steer. With a view, 
however, to keep out of the range of shot, we hauled the “ Dawn ” 
up to the eastward, first, intending to keep her fn the wake of the 
“ Black Prince.” Of course we were in no hurry, it now being in 
our power to go six feet to that ship’s one. 

In executing our purpose, we passed close to the wreck of the En- 
glish frigate’s spars. There they were rolling about on the 
troubled waters, and we actually saw the body ol a man caught in 
some of the rigging, as the sea occasionally tossed it to the surface. 
The poor fellow had probably gone over with the mast and been 
drowned before assistance could be rendered. With an enemy 
escaping, man-of-war’s-men are not very particular about picking up 
the bodies of their dead. 

1 did not venture to run the “ Dawn ” directly down in the En- 
glishman's wake, but we kept her oft and on, rather, taking good 
care not to go within a mile of her. All this time the “ Speedy ” 
was playing upon the “ Cert's ” quarter, the latter ship becoming 
too crippled to luff, while Monsieur Menneval was traveling oft to 
leeward, unmolested, having obtained the advantage in the w^ay of 
speed, that he was unwilling to put in any jeopardy bj" coming 
again under fire. This officer did not want for spirit, but the 
French had got to be so accustomed to defeat, in. their naval eii- 
counters with the English, that, like several other nations on the 
land, they had begun to look upon victory as hopeless. The 
“ Cert ” was very nobly fought. Notwithstanding the disadvan- 
tages under which she labored that ship held out until the “ Black 
Prince ” had actually given her a close broadside on her larboard 
quarter; the “ Speedy ” being kept the whole time on her starboard 
with great skill, pouring in a nearly unresisted fire. The “ Cert ” 
struck only as she found that the battle was to be two to one, and 
under so many other disadvantages, in the bargain. 

This closed the affair, so far as the fighting was concerned, “ La 


MILES WALLIIs'GFORD. 


181 

Desiree ” standing on unmolested, though, as 1 afterward learned, 
she was picked up next morning by a homeward-hound English 
two-decker, hauling down her colors without any resistance. 

The reader may feel some curiosity to know how we felt on 'hoard 
the “ Dawn,” during the five houis that elapsed between the firing 
of the first anti the last guns, on this occasion; what was said among 
us and bow we proceeded as soon as the victory was decided. The 
last lie will learn in the regular course of the narrative; as for the 
first, it is soon told. It was not easy to find four men who were 
more impartial, as between the combatants, than those in the 
”Dawn.” My early preferences had certaioly been in fator of 
England, as was very generally the case among all the better- 
educated Americans of my period, at least as low down as the war 
of 1812. But going beyond the scene of internal political discus- 
sion, and substituting observation for the eulogies and sophisms of 
the newspapers, had wrought divers changes in rry opinion. Eng- 
land was then no more to me than any other nation; 1 was not of 
the French school oi politics, hovsever, and kept myself as much 
aloof from one of these foreign schools of political logicians as 
from the other. 1 may be said to have been born a federalist; but 
this change of sentiment had prevented my ever giving a federal 
vote since attaining my majority. 

Marble had entertained a strong dislike for England ever since the , 
Eevoliition. But at the same lime he had inherited the vulgar 
contempt of his class for Frenchmen; and I must own that he had 
a fierce pleasure in seeing the combatants destroy each other. Had 
we been near enough to witness the personal suffering inflicted by 
the terrible wounds of a naval combat, I make no doubt bis feelings 
would have been different; but, as things were, he only saw French 
and English ships tearing each other to pieces. During the height 
ot the affair, he observed to me: — 

''If this Monsieur Gallois and his bloody lugger could only be 
brought into the scrape. Miles, my mind would be contented. 1 
should glory in seeing the corvette and the Polisson ” scratching 
out each other’s eyes like two fish-women whose dictionaries have 
givenout.” 

Neb and Diogenes regarded the whole thing very much as 1 sup- 
pose the Caesars used to look upon the arena when the gladiators 
were the most blood-thirsty. The negroes would laugh, cry 
“golly!” or shake their heads with delight, when half a dozen 
guns went off together; receiving the reports as a sort of evidence 
that crashing work was going on, on board the vessels. But 1 
overheard a dialogue between these two children of Africa, that may 
best explain their feelings: 

“ Which you t’ink whip. Neb?” Diogenes asked, with a grin 
that showed every ivory tooth in his head. 

'' 1 t’ink ’em hot’ get it smartly,” answered my fellow. “ You 
see how a ‘ Speedy ’ make quick work, eh?” 

I wish ’em go B.leetlene 2 irev , Neb. Some shot nebber hit, at all.” 

“ Dat always so, cook, in battle. Dere! dat a smasher for John 
Bull!” 

'' He won’t want to press more men just now. Eh! Neb?” 


182 MILES WALLI]SrGFORD. 

“ Now you see Johnny Crapaud catch it I Woss! Dat cracks ’e 
cabin winders!” 

“What dat to us, Neb? ’Spose he eat one anodcr, don’t hurt 
us!” 

Here the two spectators broke out into a loud fit of laughter, clap- 
ping their handstand swinging their bodies about as if the whole 
thing were capital fun, Diogenes was so much delighted when 
all the “Black Prince’s” spars went, that he actually began to 
dance. Neb regarding his antics with a sort of good-natured sympa- 
thy. There is no question that man, at the bottom, has a good deal 
of the wild beast in him, and that he can be brought to look upon 
any spectacle, however fierce and sanguinary, as a source of interest 
and entertainment. If a criminal is to be executed, we always find 
thousands of both, sexes and all ages assembling to witness a 
fellow-creature’s agony, and although these curious personages often 
have sentimental qualms during the revolting spectacle itself, they 
never turn away their eyes, until satisfied with all that there is to be 
seen of the terrible or the revolting. 

A word must be added concerning an acquaintance. Monsieur 
Gallois. Just as the “-Black Prince’s ” masts went, 1 saw him, a 
long way to windward, stretching in toward the coast, and carrying 
sail as hard as his lugger would bear. The corvette "was still close 
at his heels, and Marble soon after drew my attention toward him 
to observe the smoke that W’^as rising above the sloop-of-war; The 
distance was so great and the guns so light that we heard no re- 
ports, but the smoke continued to rise until both vessels went out 
of sight, in the south-western board, I subsequently learned that 
the lugger escaped after all. She w'as very hard pressed, and w'ould 
have been captured, had not the English ship, carried away her 
ifiain topgallant-mast, in her eagerness to get alongside. To that 
accident alone did Monsieur Gallois owe his escape. 1 trust he and 
Monsieur le Gros had a happy meeting. 


CHAPTEK XIX. 

The sea wax’d calm, and we discovered 
Two ships from far making amain to us, 

Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this: 

But on they came— Oh, let me say no more I 
Gather the sequel by that went before. 

Comedy of Errors. \ 

It was high time for the “ Dawn ” to be doing. Of all the ships 
to leeward, the “ Speedy,” the vessel we had most reason to ap- 
prehend, was in the best condition to do us harm. It w^as true that 
just then we might outsail her, but a man of-war’s crew would 
soon restore the balance of power, it il did not make it preponderate 
against us. 1 called to my mate, and we went aft to consult. 

“ It will not do for us to remain any longer here, Moses,” I began; 
“ the English are masters of the day, and the ‘ Speedy’s ’ officers 
having recognized us, beyond all doubt, she will be on our heels the 
moment she can.” 

“ I rather think. Miles, her traveling, for some hours to come, is 
over. There she is, however, and she has our crew on board her, 


183 


MILES M;ALLIIn’LFORD. 

snd it would be a good thing to get some ot them, if possible. If a 
body had a boat, now, 1 miglit go dowm with a flag of truce, and see 
what terms could be made.” 

1 laughed at this conceit, telling Marble he wmuld be w-ise to re- 
main where he was. 1 would give the “Speedy” four hours to 
get herself in tolerable sailing trim again, supposing her bent 
on pursuit, if in no immediate hurry, it might occupy her four-and- 
twenty hours. 

“ 1 think she may be disposed to follow^the other French frigate, 
which is clearly making her way toward Brest,” 1 added, “in 
which case we have nothing to fear. By George! there goes a gun, 
and here comes a shot in our direction — you can see it, Moses, skip- 
ping along the water, almost in a line between us and the frigate. 
Ay, here it comes!” 

All this was literally true. The “ Speedy ” lay with her bows 
toward us, and she had suddenly fired the shot to which 1 alluded, 
and which now came bounding from wave to wave until it struck 
precisely in a line with the ship, about a hundred yards distant. 

“ Halloo!” cried Marble, who had leveled his glass toward the 
frigates. “ There’s the deuce to pay down there. Miles— one boat 
pulling this-a-way, for life or death and another a’ter it. The shot 
was intended for the leading boat, and not for us.” 

This brought my glass down, too. Sure enough, there W'as a 
small boat pulling straight for us, and of .course directly to wind- 
ward of the frigate; the men in it exerting every nerve. Tbere 
were seven searnen in this boat ; six at the oars, and one steering, 
*rhe truth flashed on me in a moment. These were some of our 
own people, headed by the second mate, who had availed themselves 
of the circumstance of one of the “ Speedy’s” boats being in the 
water without a crew, to run away with it in the confusion ot the 
moment. The “ Black Prince ” had taken possession of the prize 
as we had previously noted, and that with a single boat and the 
cutter in pursuit appeared to me to be coming from the Fienchman. 
1 immediately acquainted Marble with my views of the matter, and 
he seized on the idea eagerly as one probable and natural. 

“Them’s our fellows, Miles!” he exclaimed; “we must fill, 
and meet ’em halt way!” 

It was certainly in our power to lessen the distance the fugitives 
had to run, by standing down to meet the leading boat. This could 
not be done, however, without going within reach ot the English 
guns; the late experiment showing unansw’erahly that we lay just 
without the drop of their shot, as it was. 1 never saw men in a 
greater excitement than that which now came over us all in the 
“ Dawn.” Fill, we did, immediately; that, at least, could do no 
harm; whereas it might do much good. 1 never supposed for a 
moment the English were sending boats after us. since with the 
wind that was blowing it would have been easy for the “ Dawn ” 
to leave them miles behimi her in the first hours. Each instant 
rendered my first conjecture the most likely to be true. There 
could be no mistaking the exertions of tne crews of the two boats; 
the pursuers seemingly doing their best as well as the pursued. 1 he 
frigate could no longer fire, however, the boats being already in a 
line, and there being equal danger to both from her shot. 


18 ^ 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


The reader will understand that large ships seldom engage, when 
the ocean will permit it, without dropping one or moreot their boats 
into the water; and that warm actions at sea rarely occur, without 
most of the boats being, more or less, injured; It often happens 
that a tiigate can muster only one or two boats that will swim, after 
a combat; and frequently only the one she had taken the precaution 
to lower into the water, previously to engaging. It w^as owing to 
some such circumstance that only one boat followed the fugitives in 
the present instance. The race must necessarily be short; and it 
would have been useless to send a second boat in pursuit, could one be 
founa, after the first two or three all-important minutes were lost. • 

The Dawn ” showed her ensign, as a sign w^e saw our poor 
fellows struggling to regain us, ana then We filled our main-topsail, 
squaring away and standing' down directly for the fugitives. 
Heaven! how that main-yard went round, though there were but 
three men at the braces. Each of us hauled and worked like a giant. 
There was every inducement of feeling, interest and security to do so. 
With our present force the ship could scarcely be said to be safe, 
whereas, the seven additional hands, and they our own people, who 
were straining every nerve to join us, would at once enable us to 
carry the ship direct-to Hamburg. 

Our old craft behaved beautifully. JNeb was at the wheel, the 
cook on the forecastle, while Marble and 1 got ropes cleared away to 
throw to the runaways, as soon as they should be near enough to 
receive them. Down we drove toward the boat; and it was time we 
did, for the cutter in pursuit, which pulled ten oars, and was full 
manned, was gaining fast on the fugitives. As we aftervvard 
learned, in the eagerness of starting, our men had shipped the crest 
of the sea, and they were now laboring under the great disadvantage 
of carrying more than a barrel of water, which was washing about 
in the bottom of their cutter, rendering her both heavy and unsteady. 

So intense was the interest we all felt in the result of this struggle, 
that our feelings during the battle^ could not be compare'd to it. 1 
could see Marble move his body, as a sitter in a boat is apt to do, at 
each jerk of the oars, under the notion it helps the party along. 
Diogenes actually called out, and this a dozen times at least, to en- 
courage the men to pull for their lives, though they were not yet 
within a mile of us. The constant risitig and setting of the boats 
prevented my making very minute observations, with the glass; but 
1 distinguished the face of my second mat(*, who was sitting aft, 
and 1 cotild see he was steering with one hand and baling. with the 
otiier. We now waved our hats in hopes of being seen, biit got no 
answering signal, the distance being still too great. 

At that moment 1 cared nothing tor the guns of the English ship, 
though we" were running directly for them. The boat— the boat 
was our object! For that we steered as unerringly as the motion 
of the rolling water would allow. It blew a good working breeze; 
and what was of the last importance' to us, it blew steadily. 1 
fancied the ship did not move, notwithstanding, though the rate at 
which we drew nearer to the boat ought to have told us belter. But 
anxiety had taken the place of reason, arid we were all disposed to 
see things as we felt, rather than as we truly found them. 

There was abundant reason for uneasiness, the cutler astera 


MILES WALLIKGFORD. 


185 


certainly going through the water four feet to the other’s three. 
Manned with her regular crew, with everything in order, and with 
men accustomed to pull together, the largest boat, and rawing ten 
cars to the six of mj mate’s, 1 make no doubt that the cutter of the 

Black Prince " would have beaten materially in an ordinary race, 
more especially in the rough water over which this contest occurred. 
But. nearly a tenth full ot water, the boat of the fugitives had a 
greatly lessened chance of escape. 

Of course, we then knew no more than we could see, and we 
were not slow to perceive how fast the pursuers were gaining on 
the pursued. 1 really began to tremble for the result; and this so 
much the more, as the larger cutter was near enough by this time 
to permit me to discover, by means of the glass, the ends of several 
muskets rising out of her stern sheets. Could she get near enough 
for her officers to use these weapons the chance of our people was 
gone, since it was not to be even hoped they had any arms. 

The end approached. The “ Dawn ” had got good way on her, 
Marble and Diogenes having dragged down the ’.main topgallant- 
sheets ^and hoisted the sail. The water foamed under our bowS, 
and the boat was soon so near it became indispensable to haul our 
wind. This we did with the ship’s head to the westward, without 
touching a brace, though we luffed sufficiently to throw the wind 
out of all the square sails. The last was done to deaden the vessel’s 
way, in order that the fugitives might reach her. 

The struggle became frightful for its intenseness. Our men were 
so near we could recognize them without the aid of a glass; with 
it 1 could read the glowing anxiety that was in my second mate’s 
countenance. Each instant the pursuers closed, until they were 
actually much nearer to the pursued than the latter were to the 
’“Dawn.” For the first time, now, 1 suspected the truth, by the 
heavy movement of the flying cutter, and water that the second 
male was constantly baling out of her, using his hat. Marble 
brought up the muskets left by the privateersmen, and began lo re- 
new their primings. He wished to fire at once on the pursuing 
jjoat — she being within range of a bullet, but this 1 knew would 
not be legal. 1 promised to use them should the English attempt to 
board the ship, but did not dare to anticipate that movement. 

Nearer and nearer came the boats, the chasing gaining always on 
the chased; and now the “ Black Frince ” and the “ Speedy” each 
threw a'shot quite over us. We were about a mile from tlie three 
frigates, rather increasing than lessening that distance, however, as 
they drifted to leeward, while we were slightly luffing, with our 
yards a little braced up, the leeches lifting. Neb steered the ship as 
■one would have guided a pilot-boat. He had an eye for the boats 
as well as for the sails— knew all that was wanted, and all that was 
to be done. I never saw him touch a wheel with so delicate a hand, 
or one that better did its duty. The “ Dawn’s ” way was so much 
deadened as to give the fugitives every opportunity close, while 
she was steadily coming up abreast of their course in readiness to 
meet them. 

At this instant the officer in the Black Prince’s ” cutter fired 
into that of the ” Speedy;” and one of our men suddenly dropped his 
oar. He w\as hit. I tliouglh the poor fellow’s arm was broken, for 


18G JIILES \VALLi:N'GE01iD. ‘ 

1 could see him lay a hand on the injured part, like a man who 
sufiered pain. He instantly changed places with the second mate, 
who. however, seized his oar, and began to use it, with great power. 
Three more muskets were tired, seemingly without doing any harm. 
But the leading boat lost by this delay, while its pursuers held 
steadil}’^ on. Our own people were within a hundred and fifty yards 
ot us — the English less than twenty behind them. Why the latter 
did not now fire, 1 do not actually know; but 1 suppose it to be be- 
cause their muskets were all discharged, and the race w'as now too 
sharp to allow their officer to reload. Possibly he did not wish to 
take life unnecessarily, the chances fast turning to his side. 

1 called out to Marble to stand by with a rope. The ship was 
slowly drawing ahead, and there was no time to be lost. 1 then 
shouted to my second mate to be of good heart, and he answered 
with a cheer. The English hurrahed, and we sent back the cry 
from the ship. 

“ Stand by in the boat, for the rope!” 1 cried. ” Heave, Moses 
— heave!” 

Marble hove from the mizzen -chains, the rope was caught,- and a 
motion of my hand told Neb to*keep the ship off, until everything 
drew. This was done, and the rattling of the clew-garnet blocks 
announced that Diogenes was hauling down the main-tack with the 
strength of a giant. The sail opened, and Moses and 1 hauled in 
the sheet, until the ship felt the enormous additional pressure of' 
this broad breadth of canvas. At this instant there was a cheer 
from the boat. Leaping upon the taflrail 1 saw the men erect, 
■waving their hats, and looking toward the pursuing cutter, when 
within a hundred feet of them, vainly attempting to come up w’ith 
a boat that was now dragging nearly bows under, and feeling all 
the strength of our tow. The officer cheered his men to renewed 
exertion, and he began to load a musket. At this moment the tow- 
line slipped from the thwart of the boat, and we shot away, as it 
seemed to me, a hundred feet, on the send of the very next sea. 
There was not time for the Americans to get seated at theii oars 
again, before the other cutter grappled. All that had been gained 
was lost, and, after so near and close a chance ot recovering the 
most valuable portion of my crew, was I again left on the ocean 
with the old four to manage the ” Dawn.” 

The English lieutenant knew his business too well to abandon the 
ship while there "was a chance of recovering her. The wind lulled 
a little, and he thought the hope of success worth an effort. Merely 
taking all the oars out of the ” Speedy’s ” cutter, he dashed on in 
our wake. At first he gained, nor was 1 unwilling he should, for 
1 wished to speak him. The main and fore sheets were eased off, 
and Neb was told to keep the topsails lifting. Thus favored, he 
soon got within fifty yards ot us, straining every nerve to get nearer. 

The officer pointed a musket at me, and ordered me to heave-to.. 
I jumped off the taffrail, and, with my body covered to the shoul- 
ders, pointed one of the French muskets at him, and warned him to 
keep off. 

*‘ What have you done with the prize crew put on board you 
from the ‘ Speedy ’ the other day?” called out the lieutenant. 


MILES AVALLENGPORD. - 187 

Sent them adrift,” 1 answered. “ We’ve had enough of prize 
crews in this ship, and want no more.” 

” Heavedo, sir, on the pain ot being treated as a pirate, also.” 

“Ay, ay,” shouted Marble, who could keep silent no longer, 
“ first catch a pirate. Fire, if you are tired of your cruise. 1 wish 
them bloody Frenchmen had stopped all your grog!” 

This was neither dignified nor politic, and 1 ordered my male to 
be silent. In a good-natured tone 1 incmiied for the names ot the 
late combatants, and the losses of the different ships, but this was 
too cool for our pursuer’s humor, and 1 got no answer. He did not 
dare fire, however, finding we were armed, aud, as 1 supposed, see- 
ing there was no prospect of his getting easily on board us, even 
should he get alongside, he gave up the chase, returning to the capt- 
ured^ boat. We again filled and trimmed everything, and went 
dashing through the water at the rate of seven knots. 

The frigates did not fire at us, after the guns already mentioned. 
Why, 1 can not positively say; but 1 thought, at the time, that they 
had too many other things to attend to, besides seeing the little 
chance there was ot overtaking us, should they even happen to crip- 
ple a spar or two. 

Great was the disappointment oij board the “ Dawn,” at the re- 
sult of the final incidents of this eventful day. Marble swore out- 
right; for no remonstrance of mine could cure him of indulging in 
this habit, especially when a little exerted. Diogenes grinned de- 
fiance, and fairly shook his fists at the boat; while INeb laughed and ,, 
half cried in a breath — the sure sign the fellovr’s feelings were 
keenly aroused. 

As for myself, 1 felt as much as any of the party, but preserved 
more self-command. 1 saw it was now necessary to quit that vicin- 
ity, and to take some definite steps for-the preservation of my own 
ship and property. There was little to apprehend, however, from 
the frigates, unless indeed it should tall calm. In the latter case, 
they might board us with their boats, which an hour or two’s work 
would probably enable them to use again. But 1 had no intention 
of remaining in their neighborhood, being desirous ot profiting by 
the present wind. 

The sails were trimmed accordingly, and the ship was steered 
north-westerly, on a course that took us past the three vessels-of- 
war, giving them so'wide a berth as to avoid all danger from their 
batteries. As soon as this was done, and the “ Dawn ” was travel- 
ing her road at a good rate, I beckoned to Marble to come near the 
wheel, for I had taken the helmsman’s duty on myself for an hour 
or two; in other words, was doing that which, from my boyish 
experience on the Hudson, 1 had once fancied it w'as not only the 
duty, but the pleasure, of every shipmaster to do, viz., steering! 
Little did 1 understand, before practice taught me the lesson that of 
all the work on board ship, which Jack is required to do, his trick 
at the wheel is that which he least covets, unless indeed it may be 
the office of stowing the jib in heavy weather. 

“ Well, Moses,” 1 began, “ this affair is over, and we’ve the At- 
lantic before us again, with all the ports of Europe to select from, 
and a captain, one rnate, the cook, and one man to carry the ship 
Tivhere we please to take her.” 


188 


MILES WALLiXGEOliJ). 


“’Ay, ay— ’t has been a bad job, this last. I was as sure of them 
lads, until the lieutenant fired his musket, as ever 1 was of a ^ood 
landfall with a fair wind. 1 can’t describe to you. Miles, the natur” 
of the disapp’intment 1 felt, when 1 saw' ’em give up. 1 can best 
compare it to that which came over me when I discovered 1 was 
nothing but a bloody hermit, after all my generalizing about being 
a governor and a lord high admiral of an island, all to myself, as 
it might be.” 

“ It can’t be helped, and we must take things as we finu them. 
The question is, what is to be done with the ship? ir^hould we 
venture into the Channel, yonder chaps will be after us with the 
news of a Yankee, on board of whom they put a prize crew, being 
adrift without the men, and there are fifty cruisers ready to pick 
us up. The news will spread all over the Channel in a. week, and 
our chances of getting through the Straits of Dover will be so small 
as not to be worth naming; nay, these fellows will soon repair 
damages, and might possibly overtake us themselves. The ‘ Speedy ' 
is only half crippled.” 

“ 1 see— 1 see. You’ve a trick with you. Miles, that makes a few 
words go a great way. 1 see, and 1 agree. But an idee has come 
to' my 'mind, that you’re welcome to, and after turning it over, do 
what you please with it. Instead of going to ihe eastward of Scilly, 
what say you to passing to the westward, and shaping our course 
for the Irish Channel? The news will not follow us that-a-w'ay, for 
some time; and we may meet with some American, or other, bound 
to Liverpool. Sliould the worst come to the wmrst, w'e can pass 
through between Ireland and Scotland, and work our way round 
Cape Wrath, and go into oui port of destination. It is a long road, 
1 know, and a hard one in certain seasons of the year, but it may 
be traveled in midsummer, comfortably enough.” 

“ I like your notion well enough. Marble, and am ready to carry 
it out, as far as we are able.. It must.be a hard fortune, indeed, that 
will not throw us in the way of some fishermen, or coaster, who 
will be willing to let us have a hand or Iw'o, for double wages.” 

“ Why on that p’int, Miles, the difficulty is in the war, and the 
hot press that must now be going. The English will be shy in visit- 
ing the opposite coast; and good men are hard to find, just now, 
I’m thinking, floating about the coast of England, unless they are 
under a pennant.” 

“ A hand or two, that can steer, will be an immense relief to us, 
Moses, even though unable to go aloft. Call Keb to the wheel, 
then, and we’ll go look at the chart, so as to lay our course.” 

All was done, accordingly. In half an hour, the “ Dawn ” was 
steering for the western coast of England, with everything set we 
thought it prudent to carry. Two hours after we began lo move 
away from the spot where they lay, the frigates had sunk behind the 
curvature of the earth, and we lost sight of them altogether. The 
weather continued good, the’ breeze steady and fresh, 'and the 
“ Dawn ” did her duty admirably. We began to get accustomed to 
our situations, and found them less arduous than had been appre- 
hended. The direction of the wind was so favorable, that it kept 
hope alive; though we trebled our distance by going round the 
British Islands, instead of passing directly up the Channel. Twenty- 


MILES WALLINGFOED, 


189 


four hours were necessary to carry us as far north as the Land’s 
End, lioweveT; and 1 determined to be then ^^overned by circum 
stances. Should the wind shift, we always had the direct route be- 
fore us; and 1 had my doubts whether puttinf]^ a bold face on the 
matter, running close in with the English shore, and appearing to 
be bound for London, were not the wisest course. There certainly 
was the danger of the “ Speedy’s ” telling our st'ory, in which case 
there would be a sharp lookout for us; while there was the equal 
chance that she might speak nothing for a week. Eight-and-forty 
hours ahead ot her, 1 should not have feared mucL fioin her ac- 
cou’nt of us. 

It is unnecessary to dwell minutely on the er^ents of the next few 
days. The weather continued good, the wind fair; and our prog- 
ress was in proportion. We saw nothing until we got within two 
leagues of Scilly light, when we were boarded by a pilot-boat out 
from those islands. This occurred at sunrise, w-ith tlie wind light 
at north-east, and one sail in sight to windward, that had the ap- 
pearance of a brig-of-war, though she was stilt hull down, and not 
heading for us. 

1 saw that the smallness of our crew, and the coarse we were 
steering, struck these pilots, the moment they had time to ascertain 
the first 'fact. It was not usual, in that day, nor do I suppose it Is 
now, for deep- laden Americans to p^s so near England, coming 
from the south-east and steering to the north-west. A remark to 
this effect fell from the mouth of the principal pilot, as soon as 1 
told him 1 did not wish to go into any of the neighboring polls. 

“ 1 am short of hands, and am desirous of obtaining three or four 
good men,” I said, ” who shall he well paid for their services, and 
sent hack without cost, to the place whence they came.” 

” Ay, 1 see you’ve a small crew for so stout a cfaft, master,” the 
pilot answered. ‘‘ May 1 have ash what has happened to bring you 
down so low?” 

” Why, you know how it is among your cruisers, in wtir-time — 
an English frigate carried away all hands, with the exception of 
these you see. ” 

Now, this was true to the ear, at least, though I saw, plainly 
enough, that 1 w^as not believed. 

” It’s not often his Majesty’s. officers shave so close,” the pilot an- 
swered, with a sort of sneer 1 did not like. ” Tliey commonly send 
in bands with a ship, when they find it necessary to take her own 
men.” 

” Ay, 1 suppose the laws require this with English vessels^; with 
Americans they are less particular; at all events, you see the whole 
of us, and 1 should he very glad to get a hand or two, it possible, 
out of your cutter.” 

” Where are you bound, master? Before we ship, we’d like to 
know the port we sail for.” 

“.Hamburg.” 

“Hamburg! Why, master, you’re not heading for Hamburg, 
at all, which lies up the English, not up the Irish Channel.” 

“ 1 am well aware of that. Hut 1 arn afraid to ao into the English 
Channel so short-handed. Those narrow waters give a man trouble, 
unless he has a full crew.” 


MILES WALLIKGFOKD. 


190 

“ The Channel is a good place to find men, master. However, 
none of us can go with you, and no words be uectssary. As you’ve 
no occasion for a pilot, we must be oft a’ter, something else.-” 

The fellow now left me, without moi'e words, and 1 saw there was 
no use in attempting to detain him. He had got a league from us, 
and we were jogging on our course, before we discovered he w£S 
niaking signals to the brig, which had kept dead away, and had set 
studding-sails on both sides. As this was carrying much more sail 
than we could venture to show, 1 thought our chance of. escape 
small, indeed: There was the w'hole day before us, with a light, 
and, doubtless, fast-sailing cruiser in chase of a heavily-loaded 
merchantman. As p. stern chase is, proverbially, a long chase how- 
ever, 1 determined to do all we could to avoid the gentleman. {Sail 
was made accordingly, so far as w^e dared, and the ship was steered 
a little off, as her best mode of sailing in her present trim. We saw 
the brig speak the pilot-boat, and from that moment, were certain 
her commander had all the conjectures of the Bcilly men added to 
his own. The effect w^as soon to be noted, for W'hen the two 
separated, the cutter stood in for her owm rocks, while. the brig re- 
newed her chase. 

That was an uneasy day. The man-of-war gained, but it was 
quite slowly. She might beat us by a knot in the hour, and, being 
ten miles astern, there was sfill the hope of its falling dark before 
she could close. The wind, too, was unsteady, and toward night it 
grew so light, as to reduce both vessels to only two or three knots’ 
way. ^ Of course, this greatly lessened the difference in our rate of 
sailing, and 1 had now strong hopes that night might come before 
our pursuers could close. 

Nor was 1 disappointed. The winil continued light until sunset, 
when It Came out a fine breeze at north-west bringing us dead 
windward of the brig, which was then distant some six miles. We 
got tire proper sail on the ship as fast as we could, though the cruiser 
was dashing ahead under everything she could Carry long before we 
could get through with the necessary work. When we did get at 
it, notwithstanding, 1 found she had not much the advantage of 
us, and now began to entertain some hopes of shaking her off in the 
course of the night. Marble was confident of it, and his confidence, 
on points of seamanship, was always entitled to respect. 

About ten, both vessels were on the starboard tack, standing to the 
southward and westward, or out toward the broad Atlantic, with 
the brig about a league under the ” Dawn’s ” lee, and a little for- 
ward of her beam. This v.^as the most favorable position for us to 
be in, in order to effect our purpose, since the cruiser had already 
passed her nearest point to us, on that tack. The horizon to wind- 
ward, and all along the margin of the sea at the northward, was 
covered with clouds, which threatened, by the w'ay, a capful of 
wind. This dark background would be likely to prevent our being 
seen; and the instant the night shut in the outline of the brig’s can- 
vas, 1 ordered our helm put down. 

It was lively business,, tacking such a ship as the” Dawn,” under 
so much canvas, and in such a breeze, with four men! The helm 
was lashed hard down, and at it we went, like so many tigers. The 
after-yards swung themselves, though the raain-tack and sheet gave' 




MILES WALLIKGFOKD. 


* 191 


US a good deal of trouble. We braced everything aft sharp up be- 
fore we left it, having first managed to get the fore-yard square. 
When this was done, we filled all forward, and dragged the yard 
and bowlines to their places with a. will that seemed irresistible. 

There were no means of knowing whether the brig came round 
about this time or not. Agreeably to the rule of chasing, she should 
have tacked when directly abeam, unless she fancied she could eat 
us out of the wind by standing on. We knew she did not tack when 
directly abeam, but we could not see whether she came round after 
us, or not. At all evefits, tack or not, she must still be near a.leaguo 
under ofir lee, and we drove on toward the English coast until the 
day reappeared, not a man of us sleeping a wink that night. How 
anxiously we watched the ocean astern, and to leeward, as the re- 
turning light slowly raised the veil of obscurity from before us! 
Nothing was in sight, even when the sun appeared, to bathe the 
entire ocean in a flood of glory. Not even a white speck in-shore; 
and as for the brig, we never saw or heard more of her. Doubtless 
she stood on, on the old course, hoping gradually to close with us, 
or to draw so far ahead and to windward, as to make certain of her 
prey in the morning. 

According to our leckoning, the ship w^as now heading well up 
toward the coast of Wales, which we might expect to make in the 
course of the next four-and-twenty hours, should the wind stand. I 
determined, therefore, to make the best of the matter, and to go 
directly up the Irish Channel, hoping to fall in with some boa't from 
the north shore, that might not have as apt intellects on board it as 
those of our Scilly pilot had proved to be. We stood on, conse- 
quently, all that day, and another sun set without our making the 
land. We saw several vessels at a distance in the afternoon, but we 
■were now in a part of the ocean where an American ship would be 
as little likely to be disturbed as in any 1 know. It was the regular 
track of vessels bound to Liverpool, and these last were as little 
molested as the want of men would at all permit. Could we get past 
that port, we should then be in the way of picking up half a dozen 
Irishmen. 


CHAPTER XX. 

Och ! botheration— ’tis a beautiful coost, 

All made up of rocks and deep bays; 

Ye may sail up and down, a marvelous host. 

And admire all its beautiful ways. 

Irish Song. 

Little did we, or could we, anticipate all that lay before us. The 
wind held at north-west until the ship had got within twenty miles 
of the Welsh coast; then it came out light again at the southward. 
Y/e were now so near Liverpool that 1 expected ever}' hour to make 
seme American bound in. None was seen, notwithstanding, and 
we stood up channel, edging over toward the Irish coast, at the same 
time, determined to work our way to the nortJiward as well as we 
could. This sort of weather cpntinued for two days and nights, dur- 
ing which we managed to get up as high as Whitehaven, when the 
wind came dead ahead, blowing a stiff breeze. 1 foresaw from the 


MILES WALLlKGFOIiD. 


192 ‘ 

commencement of this new wind, that it wouffl probably drivers 
down channel, and . out into the Atlantic once more, unless we could 
anchor. L thought I w'ould attempt the last somewhere under the 
Irish coast, in the hope of getting somd assistance from among the 
children of St. Patrick. We all knew that Irish sailors, half the time, 
were not very well trained, but an3dhing that could pull and haul 
w'ould be invaluable to us in heavy weather. We had now been 
more than a week, four of us in all, working the ship, and instead 
-of being in the least fagged, we had rather got settled into our 
places, as it might- be, getting along without much trouble; still 
there were moments when a little extra force would be of great mo- 
ment to us, and 1 could see by the angry look of the skies that 
these moments were likely to increase in frequency and in the mag- 
nitude of their importance to us. 

The waters we were in were so narrow that it was not long before 
we drew close in with the Irish coast. Here, to my great joy, we 
saw^ a large. fishing-boat, well out in the ofiing, and under circum- 
stances that rendered it eSsy for those in it to run close under our 
lee. We made a signal, therefore, and soon had the strangers 
lying-to^ in the smooth water we made for them, with our own main- 
yard aback. It is scarcely necessary to say that we had gradually 
diminished our own canvas, as it became necessary, until the ship 
was under double-ieefed topsails, the fore-course, jib, and spanker. 
We had brought the topsails down lower than w^as necessary, in 
order to anticipate the time when it might be indispensable. 

The first of the men who came on board us was named Terence 
O’ something. His countenance was the droll medley of fun, 
shrewdness, and blundering, that is so often found in the Irish 
peasant, and which appears to be characteristic of entire races in the 
island. 

“ A fine mprnin’, yer honor,” he began, with a self-possession 
that nothing could disturb, though it was some time past noon, and 
the day was anything but such a one as a seaman likes. “ A fine 
mornin’, yer honor, and as fine a ship. Is it fish that yer honor will 
be asking for?” 

” 1 will take some of your fish, my friend, and pay you well for 
them.” 

” Long life to yees.” 

” 1 was about to say, 1 will pay you much better if you can show 
me any lee hereabouts, which has good holding-ground, where a 
ship might ride out the gale that is coming.” 

” ShuVe, yer honor! — will 1 not? Shure, there’s niver the lad on 
the coost that knows betther what it is yer honor wants, or wiio’ll 
supply ypes, with halt the good will.” 

‘‘Of course you know the coast; probably were borh here- 
abouts?” 

” Of coorse, is it? Whereabouts should Terence O’ something be 
born, it it’s not hereabouts? Is it know the coost, loo? Ah! we’re 
ould acquaintances.” 

‘‘ And where do you intend to take the ship, Terence?” 

“ It’s hoidding-ground yer honor asked for?” 

Certainly. A bottom on which an anchor will not drag.’’ 

I *' Och! is it tkat? Well, all the bottom in this counthr^’^ Is of the 


3I^LES WALLINGFORD. 193 

same natur’. None ot it will dra.f?, without pulling mighty haul. 

■ I’Jl swear to any part of it.” 

“Itou surely would not think of anchoring a ship out here, a 
league from the land, with nothing t6 break either wipd or .sea,, and 
a gale commencing?” 

“1 anchor? Divdl the bit did 1 ever anchor a ship, or a brig, or 
even a,ciitther. I’ve not got so high up as that, yer honor; but 
yon’s ould JMichael Sweeny, now; many’s the anchor he’s cast out, 
miles at a time, say in’ he’s been a sayman, and knows the says from 
top to bottom. It’s Michael ye’ll want, and Michael ye shall have.” 

Michael was spoken to, and he clambered up out of the boat as 
well as he could; the task not being very easy, since the fishermen 
with difficulty kept their dull, heavy boat out of our mizzen-chains. 
In the meantime, Marble and 1 found time to compare notes. We 
agreed that Mr. Terence. McScale, or O’ something— for 1 forget the. 
fellow’s surname — would probably turn out a more useful man in 
bauling in mackerel and John Dorys, than in helping us to take 
care of the ” Dawn.” Isor did Michael, at the first glance, promise 
anything much better, lie was very old — eighty, 1 should think — 
and appeared to have nullified all the brains he ever had, by the 
constant use of whisky; the scent of which accompanied him^with 
a* sort of parasitical odor, as that of tanning attends the leather- 
dresser. He was not drunk just then, however, but seemed cool 
and collected. 1 explained my wishes to this man; and was glad 
to find he had a tolerable notion of nautical terms, and that he 
would not be likely to get us into difficulty, like Terence, through 
any ignorance on this score. 

” Is it anchor yer wmuld, yer honor?” answered Michael, wheml 
had concluded. ” Ijure. that’s aisy enough, and the season is good 
for that same; for the wind is getting up like a giant. As for the • 
guineas yer* honor mintions, it’s of no avail at ween friends. I’ll 
take ’em to obleege ye, if yer honor so wills; but the -ship should be 
anchpred if there niwer was a grain of goold in the wur-r-r-ld. 
Would ye like a berth pratty well out, or would yer honor choose 
to go in among the rocks, and lie like a babby in its cradhlc?’ 

” 1 should prefer a sate roadsteadi* to venturing too far in, with- 
out a professed pilot. By the look of the land in-shore, 1 should 
think it would be easy to find a lee against this wind, provided we 
can get-good holding ground. That is the difficulty 1 niQ^t appre- 
hend.” 

” Trust ould lreland|for that, yer honor; yes, put faith in us, for 
that same. Ye’ve only to fill your topsail, and stand in; ould 
Michael and ould Ireland together, will take care of yees.” 

I confess 1 greatly disliked the aspect of things in-shore, with 
such a pilot; but the aspect of things outside was si ill woi'se. Short- 
handed as we were, it w’^ould be impossible to keep the ship in the 
Channel, should the gale come on as heavily as it threatened; and a 
single experiment satisfied me, the four men in the boat would be. 
of very little use in working her; for 1 never saw persons who knew 
anything of the water, more awkward than they turned out to be 
on our decks. Michael knew something, it is true; but he was too- 
old to turn his knowledge to much practical account, for when 1 
sent him to the wdieel, Keb had to remain there to assist him in 


194 


:miles wallikgfoed'. 


steering. There was no choice, and therefore 1 determined to stand 
close in. when, should no suitable berth offer, it would always be in 
our power to wear off-shore. The fishing-boat was dropped astern 
accordingly, the men were all kept in the ship, and we stood in 
nearer to the coast; the “Dawn” bending to the blasts, under the 
sail we carried, in a way to render it difficult to stand erect on her 
decks. 

The coast promised well as to formation, th'^ugh there was much 
to apprehend on the subject of the bottom. Among rocks an anchor 
is a ticklish thing to confide in, and 1 feared it might be a difficult 
matter to find a proper bottom, as far out as 1 deemed it prudent to 
remain. But Michael, and Terence, and Pat, and Murphy, or what- 
ever were the names of our protesting confident friends, insisted, 
that “ ould Ireland ” would never fail us. Marble and 1 stood on 
the forecastle, watching the formation of the coast, and making our 
comments, as the ship drove through the short seas, buried to her 
figure-head. At length, we thought a headland that was discerni- 
ble a little under our lee-bow, looked promising, and Michael was 
called from the wheel and questioned concerning it. The fellow 
affirmed he knew the place well, and that the holding-ground on 
each side of it was excellent, consenting at once to a proposition of 
mine to bring up under its lee. We edged off, therefore, for this 
point, making the necessary preparations for bringing up. 

1 was too busy in getting in canvas to note the progress of the ship 
for the next twenty minutes. It took all four of us to stow the jib, 
leaving Michael at the wheel the while. And a tremendous job it 
was, though (1 say it in humility) four belter men never lay out on 
a-spar, than those who set about the task on this occasion. We got 
.it in, however, but, 1 need scarcely tell the teaman, it was not 
“ stowed in the skin.” Marble insisted on leading the party, and 
never before had 1 seen the old fellow work as he did on that day. 
He had a faculty of incorporating his body and limbs with the wood 
and ropes, standing, as it might be, on air, working and dragging 
with his arms and broad shoulders, in a way that appeared to give 
him just as much command of his entire strength, as another man 
would possess on the ground. 

At length we reduced the canvas to the fore-topmast staysail, and 
main-topsail, the latter double-reefed. It was getting to be time 
that the last should be close- reefed (and we carried four reefs in the 
“ Dawn ”), but we hoped the cloth would hold out until wm wanted 
to rbll it up altogether. The puffs, however, began to come gale- 
fashion, and I foresaw we should get it presently in a style that 
, would require good looking to. 

•The ship soon drove within the extremity of the headland, the 
lead giving us forty fathoms of water. 1 had previously asked 
Michael wiiat water we might expect, but this he frankly owned he 
could not tell. He w^as certain that •ships sometimes anchored there, 
but what water they found wms more than he knew. He was no 
conjuror, arid guessing might be dangerous, so he chose to say noth- 
ing about it. It was nervous work for a shipmaster to carry his 
vessel bn a coast, under such pilotage as this. 1 certainly would 
have wore round as it was, were it not for the fact that there was a 


MILES AVALLHs'GEOKD. 195 

clear sea. to leeward, and that it would always be as easy to run out 
into the open water, as the wind was at that moment. 

Marble and X now began to question our fisherman as to-the pre- 
cise point where he intended ,to fetch up. Michael was bothered, 
and it was plain enough his knowledge was of the most general 
character. As for the particulars of iiis calling, he treateel them 
with the coolest indifleience. He had been much at sea in his 
younger days, it is true; but it was in ships-of-war, where the 
ropes were put into his hands by captains of the mast, and where 
his superiors did all the thinking. He could tell whether ships did 
or did not anchor near a particular* spot, but he knew no reason for 
the one, or for the other. In a woid, he had just that sort, of 
knowledge of .seamanship as one gets of the world by living in a 
province, where we all learn the leading principles of humanity, and 
trust to magazines and works of fiction for finesse of life. 

The lead proved a better guide than Michael, and seeing some 
breakers in-shore of us, 1 gave the order lo clew up the main-topsail, 
and to luff to the wind, before the ship should lose her way. Our 
Irishmen pulled and hauled well enough, as soon as they were 
directed what to do; which enabled Marble and mj^self each to 
stand oy a stopper. We had previously got the two bowers a-cock- 
biii (the cables were bent as soon as we made the land); and noth- 
ing remained but to let run. Heb was at the wdieel, with orders to 
spring to the cables as soon as he heard them running out, and 
everything was in readiness. 1 shouted the order to “ let run,” 
and down both our anclu>rs w^ent, at the same instant, in twenty- 
two fathoms of water. The ship took cable at a tearful rate; but 
Marble and Diogenes being at one bower, and Neb and 1 at the 
other, we succeeded in snubbing her, with something like twenty 
fathoms within the hawse-lioles. There was a minute, w*hen I 
thought the old bark would get away from us; and when, by des- 
perate effort, we did succeed in checking the mass, it seemed as if 
she would shake the w’^indlass out of her. Ho time w^as lost in stop- 
pering the cables, and in rolling up the main-topsail. 

Michael and his companions now came to wish us good luck, get 
the guineas, and to take their leave The sea w^as already.so rough 
that the only mode that remained. of getting into thgir boat was by 
dropping from the end of the spanker-boom. 1 endeavored to per- 
suade two or three of these fellows to stick by the ship, but in vain. 
They were all married, and they had a certain protection against 
impressment in their present manner of life; wdiereas, should they 
be found at large, some man-of-war would probably pick them up, 
and Michael’s tales of the past had not given them any great zest 
for the sort of life he described. 

When these Irish fishermeii left us and ran in-shore, we were 
thrown again altogether on our own resources. 1 had explained to 
Michael our want of hands, however, attributing it to accidents and 
impressments, and he thought he could persuade four or five young 
fellows to come off, as soon as the gale abated, on condition we 
W’ould lake them to America, after discharging at Hamburg. These 
were to be mere peasants, it is true, for seamen were scarce in that 
part of the world, but they would be better than nothing. Half a 
dozen athletic young Irishmen wduld relieve us seamen from a vast 


196 


MILES WALLIlS^GrORD. 


deal ot the heavy, lugging work of the ship, and leave us strength 
and spirits to do that which’ unavoidably fell to our shar^^. With 
the understanding that he was to receive, himself, a guinea a head 
for each sound man thus brought us, we parted from old Michael, 
who probably has never piloted a ship since, as 1 strongly suspect 
he had never done before. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

The power of God is everywhere, 

' , Pervades all space and time; 

The power of God can still the air, 

And rules in every clime ; — 

Then bow the heart, and bend the knee, 

And worship o’er both land and sea, 

Z)?to. 

1 NEVER knew precisely the point on the coast of Ireland where 
we anchored. It was somewhere between Strangtord and Dundrurn 
' Bay, though the name of the headland which gave us a sort of pro- 
tection I did not learn. In this part oi the island the coast trends 
north and south generally, though at Ihe place where we anchored 
its direction was nearly from north-north-east to south -soul h-west, 
w^hich, in the early part of the gale, was as close as might be the 
course in which the wind blew. At the moment we brought up, 
the wind had hauled a little further to the northward, giving us a 
better lee, but, to my great regret, Michael had scarcely left us when 
it shifted to due north-east, making a fair rake ot the channel. This 
left us very little of a Jee — the point ahead of us being no great 
matter, and we barely within it. I consulted such maps as I had, 
and came to the conclusion that we were off the County Down, a 
part ot the kingdom that was at least civilized, and where we should 
be apt to receive good treatment in the event of being wrecked. Our 
fisherman told us that they belonged to a Bally something, but what 
the something was I have forgotten, if I ever understood them. 
“ 2old us,” I say out ot complaisance, but ” ioiild’' would be the 
better word, as ail they uttered savored so much of, the brogue, that 
it was not always easy to get at their meaning. 

It was past noon when the ” Dawn ” anchored, and the wind got 
more to the eastward about halt an hour afterward. It was out 
• ot the question to think of getting under way again, with so strong 
a wind and with our feeble crew'. Had it been perfectly smooth 
water, and had there been neither tide nor air, it would have taken 
us half a day, at least, to get our two bowers. It w'a» folly, there- 
fore, to think of it, situated as we were. It only remained to ride 
out the gale in the best manner we could. 

Nothing occurred, for several hours, except that the gale in- 
creased sensibly in violence. Like an active disease, it vvas fast 
coming to a crisis. Toward sunset, however, a little incident t('ok 
place, that gave me great uneasiness of itself, though 1 had fore- 
bodings of evil from the commencement of that tempest. Tw^o sail 
appeared in sight, to windward, being quite near us, close in with 
the Irish coast, before either was observed on board the ” Dawn,” 
The leading vessel of the two was a man-of-w'ar cutter, running 


MILES wallixg:^ord. '197 

nearly betore it, under a close-reefed square-sail — canvas so low that 
it mi^bt easily be confounded with the foam of the sea, at a little 
distance. She rounded the headland, and was edging awa}^ from 
the coast, apparently'^ for sea room, when she look a sudden sheer in 
our direction. As if curious to ascertain what could have taken so' 
large a square-rigged vessel as the “ Dawn,” into her present berth, 
this cutter actually ran athwart our hawse, passing inside of us at a 
distance of some fifty yards. We were examined: but no attempt 
was made to speak to us. 1 felt no uneasiness at the proximity of 
these two cruisers, for 1 knew a boat could not live— our ship fairly 
pitching her martingale into the water at her anchors,. 

The frigate followed the cutler, though she passed us outside, 
even nearer than her consort. 1 got my first accurate notion of the 
weight of the gale by seeing this large ship drive past us, under a 
reefed topsail, and a close-reefed mairi-topsail, running nearl}’- dead 
before it. As she came down, she took a sheer, like a vessel scuil- 
ding in the open ocean; and, at one moment, 1 feared she would ' 
plunge directly into us, though she minded her helm in time to clear 
everything. A dozen officers on board her were looking at us, from 
her gangway, her quarter-deck guns, and rigging. All were com- 
pelled to hold on with firm grasx)s:. and wonder seemed painted in 
every countenance. 1 could see their features for halt a minute 
only, or even a less time; but I could discern this expression in each 
face. Some looked at our spars, as it to ascertain whether all were 
right; while others looked back at the headland they had just 
rounded, like those who examine the roadstead. Most shook their 
heads, as remarks passed from one to the other. The captain, as J 
took him to be, spoke to us. ” What are you doing here?” came'' to 
me through a trumpet, plainly enough; but answering was out of 
the question. Betore 1 could even get a trumpet to my mouth, the 
frigate had gone foaming by. and was already beyond the reach of 
the voice. Heads appeared over her laffrail for some time, and we 
fancied these man-of-war’s-men regarded us as the instructed are 
apt to regard the ignorant, whom they fancy to be in danger. IVlar- 
ble sneered a little at the curiosity betrayed bytheke two crafts; bu.tj 
as for myself, it caused great uneasiness. 1 fancied they acted liKe 
those who were acquainted with the coast, manifesting surprise at 
seeing a stranger anchored in the berth we occupied. 

,1 slept little that night. Marble kept me company most of the 
time, but Neb and Dipgenes were as tranquil as if sleeping on good 
French mattresses —m^^de of hair, not down— within the walls of a 
citadel. Little disturbed, these negroes’ followed our fortunes 
with the implicit reliance that habit and education had bred iii 
them, as it might be, iu and in. In .this particular, they were liter- > 
ally dyed iu the wool, to use one of the shop expressions so com- 
mon among us. 

There was a little relaxation in the force of the gale in the middle 
of the night; but, with the return of day, came the winds howiing 
upon us, in a way that announced a more than common storm. All • 
hands of us were now up, and paying every attention to the vessel. 
My greatest concern had been lest sonie of~the sails should get adrift, 
tor they had been furled by few and fatigued men. This did not 
happen, hoxvever, our gaskets and lashings doing all of their duty. 


198 


MILES WALLII^GFOHD. 


We got our breakfasts, therefore, in the ordinaiy 'way, and Marble 
and myself 'W'ent and stood on the forecastle, to watch the signs of 
the times, like faithful guardians, who (vere anxious to get as near 
as possible to the dantjer. ' 

■ It was wonderful how the ship pitched! Frequently her Aurora 
was completely submerged, and tons of water -would come in upon 
’the forecastle, washing entirely aft at the next send, so that our only 
means to keep above water was to stand on the windlass-bitts, or to 
get upon the heart of the main-stay. Dry we were not, nor did we 
think of attempting to be so, but such expedients were necessary to 
enable us to remain stationary; often to enable us to breathe. 1 no 
longer wmndered at the manner in which the cutter and frigate had 
examined our position. It was quite clear the fishermen knew very 
little about finding a proper berth for a ship, and that we might 
pretty nearly as well have brought up in the middle of 8t. George’s 
Channel, could our ground-tackle reach the bottom, as to have 
brought up where we were. 

Just about nine o’clock, Marble and 1 had got near each other on 
the fife-rail, and held a consultation on the subject of our prospects. 
Although we both clung to the same topsail- sheet, we were obliged 
to halloo to make ourselves heai^, the howling of the wund through 
the rigging converting the hamper into a sort of tremendous ^olian 
harp, while the roar of the water kept up a species of bass accoin- 
paniment to this music of the ocean. Marble was the on&who had 
brought about this communication, and he was the first to speak. 

“ 1 say, Miles,” he called out, his mouth within three feet of juy 
ear, ‘‘ she jumps about like a whale ■with a harpoon in it! I’ve been 
afraid she’d jerk the stem out of her.” 

” Not much fear of that, Moses— my great concern is that star- 
bo,ard bower-cable; it has a good deal more strain on it than the lar- 
board, and you can see how the strands are stretched.” 

“Ay, ay, ’lis generalizing its strength, as one may say. S’pose 
we clap the helm a-port, and try the effects of a sheer?” 

“ i’ve thought of that; as there is a strong tide going, it may 
possibly answer—’'" 

These wmrds were scarcely out of my mouth, when three seas of 
enormous height came rolling down upon us, like three great roister- 
ing companions in a crowd of sullen men, the first of which raised 
the ” Dawn’s ” bows so high in the air, as to cause us both to watch 
the result in breathless silence. The plunge into the trough was in 
a just proportion to the loss into the air, and 1 felt a surge, as if, 
sometljing gave way under the violent strain that succeeded. The 
torrent of water that came on the forecastle prevented anything from 
being seen; but again the bows rose, again they sunk, and then the 
ship seemed easier. 

‘‘ We’re all adrift. Miles!” Marble shouted, leaning forward to be 
beard. ‘‘ Both bowers have snapped like thread, and here we go, 
headforemost, in for the land!” 

All this was true enough! The cables had parted, and the ship’s 
head was falling off fast from the gale, like the steed that has slip- 
ped his bridle, before he commences his furious and headlong career. 
1 looked round for the negroes; but Neb W'as already at the w’heel. 


199 


HILES WALLIXGFOIID. 

Tliat noble fellow, true as steel, had perceived Ihe accident as soon 
as any of us, and he sprung to the very part ot the vessel where he 
■was most needed. He had a seaman’s faculties in perfection, 
though ratiocination was certainly not his forte. A motion of my 
hand ordered him to put the helm hard up, and the answering sign 
let me know that 1 was obeyed. AYe could do no more just then,- 
but the result was awaited in awful expectation. 

The “ Dawn’s ” bows fell off until the ship lay broadside to the 
gale, which made her reel until her lee lower yard-arms nearly 
dipped. Then she overcame the caldron of w^ater that was boiling 
around her, and began to draw heavily ahead. Three seas swept 
athwarc her decks before she minded her helm in the least, carrying 
with them everything that was not most firmly lashed, or which had 
not animal life to direct its movements, away to leeward. They 
swept off the hen-coops, and ripped four or five water-casks froim 
their lashings, even as if the latter had been packthread. The 
caboose-house went also, at the last of these terrific seas; and 
nothing saved tlie caboose itself, but its great weight, added to the 
strength of its fastenings. In a word, little was left that could very 
■(veil go, but the launch, the gripes of which fortunately held on. 

By the time this desolation was completed, the ship began to fall 
oft, and her movement through the water became very perceptible. 
At first, she dashed in tow^ard the land, running, 1 make no doubt, 
quite halt a mile obliquely in that direction, ere she got fairly be- 
fore the wind — a course which carried her nearly in a line with the 
coast. Marble and myself now got aft without much trouble, and 
put the helm a little to starboard, with a view to edge off’ to the 
passage as tar as possible. The wind blew so nearly down channel, 
that there would have been no immediate danger, had we an ofting, 
but the ship had not driven before the gale more than three or four 
hours, when we made land ahead; the coagt trending in this part of 
the island nearly north and south. Marble suggested the prudence 
of taking time by the forelock, and ot getting the maintop-sail on 
the ship, to force her off the land, the coast in the neighborhood ot 
Dublin lying under our lee-bow. We had taken the precaution to 
close-reef everything before it was furled, and 1 went aloft myself to 
lower this sail. It 1 had formed a very respectful opinion of the 
power of the gale, while on deck, that opinion was materirdly height- 
ened when I came to feel its gusts on the main-topsail-yard. It 
was not an easy matter to hold on at all; and to work, required 
great readiness and strength. ^Nevertheless, 1 got the sail loose, 
and then 1 went down and aided Marble and the cook to drag home 
the sheets. Home, they could not be dragged by us, notwithstand- 
ing we got up a luff; but we made the sail stand reasonably well. 

The ship hnmediately felt the effect of even this rag of canvas. 
She drove ahead at a prodigious rate, running, 1 make no question, 
some eleven or twelve knots, under the united power collected by 
her hamper and this one fragment of a sail. Her drift was un- 
avoidably great, and 1 though!; the current sucked her in toward the 
land; but, on the whole, she kept at about fhe same distance from 
the shore, foaming along it, much as we had seen the fiigate do 
the day before. At the rate’we.weie going, twelve or fifteen hours . 
would* cairy us down to the passage between Holyhead and Ireland, 


^00 MILES WALLINGFORD. 

when we should ge^ more sea-room, on account of the land's trend- 
ing again to the westward. 

Lone, lone hours did Marble and 1 watch the progress of our ship 
that day and the succeeding night, each of us taking our tricks at 
the wheel, and doing seaman’s duty, as well as that of mate and 
master. All this lime, the vessel was dashing furiously out toward 
the Atlantic, which she reached ere the morning of the succeeding 
day. Just before the light returned we were w'hirled past a large 
ship that was lying to, under a single storm-staysail, and which 1 rec- 
ognized as the frigate that had taken a look at us at our anchorage. 
The cutter was close at hand, and the fearful manner in which these 
two strong-handed vessels pitched and lurched, gave me some idea 
of what must be our situation, should we be compelled to luff to 
the wind. 1 supposed they had done so, in order to keep as long as 
possible on their cruising ground, near the chops of the Irish Chan- 
nel. 

A wild scene lay around us, at the return of light. The Atlantic 
resembled a chaos of w’aters, the portions of the foiling sheet that 
•were not white with foam, looking green and angry; The clouds 
hid the sun, and the gale seemed to be fast coming to its height. At 
ten, we drove past an American, with nothing standing but his foie- 
inast. Like ns, he was running off, though we went three feet to 
his two. llMf an hour later, we had the awful sight before our 
eyes of witnessing the sudden disappearance of an English brig. She 
•was lying-to, directly on our course, and 1 was looking at her from 
the windlass, trying to form some opinion as to the expediency of 
luffing-to, in order to hold our own. Of a sudden, this brig gave a 
plunge, and she went down like a porpoise diving. What caused 
this disaster 1 never knew; but, in five minutes we passed as near 
as possible over the spot, and not a trace of her was to be seen. 1 
could not discover so much as a handspike floating, though 1 looked 
with intense anxiety, in the hope of picking' up some fellow- 
creatures clinging to a spar. As for stopping to examine, one who 
did not understand the language might as well hope to read the 
German character on a mile-stone, while flyiiig pitst it in a railroad 
car. 

At noon, precisely, away went our foretop-saiLout of the gaskets. 
One fastening snapped after another, until the whole sail was adrift. 
The tugs that this large sheet of canvas gave upon the spars, as it 
shook in the wind, threatened to jerk the foremast out of the ship. 
Thej' lasted about three minutes, when, after a report almost as loud 
as that of a small piece of ordnance, the sail split in ribbons. Ten 
minutes later, our mairitop.-sail went. This sail left us as it might 
be bodily, and I actuallj’- thought that a gun of distress was fired 
•near us, by some vessel that was unseen. The boit-rope was left 
set; the sheets, ear-rings, and reef points all holding' on, the cloth 
tearing at a single rent around the four sides of the sail. The scene 
that followed I scarcely know how to describe. The torn part of 
the maintop-sail flew fowara, and caught in the after part of the 
lore-top, wdiere it stood spread, as one might say, held by the top, 
cat-harpins, aigging, and other obstacles. This w'as the feather to 
break the camel's back. Bolt after boltof the fore-rigging drew or 
broke, each parting wdth a loud report, and away went everything 


'201 


:Nr l L HS W A LLI 's' GFO KI). 

belonging to tlie foremast over the bows, from the deck up. The, 
maintop mast was dragged down by this fearful pull, and that 
brought the niizzen-top-gallant-mast after it. The pitching of so 
much hamper under the bows of the ship, while her after-masts 
stood, threw the stern round, in spite ot the manner in M’hich Mar- 
ble steered; and the ship broached to. In doing this, the sea made 
a fair breach over her, sweeping the deck of even the launch and 
caboose, and carrying all the lee bulwarks, in the waist, with them. 
Neb was in the latinch at the time, hunting for some article kept 
there; and the last I saw of the poor fellow, he was standing erect 
ill the bows oi the boat, as the latter drove over the vessel’s side, on 
the summit of a wave, like a bubble floating in a furious current. 
Diogenes, it seems, had that moment gone to his caboose, to look 
after the plain dinner he was trying to boil, when probably seizing the 
iron as the most solid object near him, he was carried overboard with 
it, and never reappeared. Marble was in a tolerably safe part of the 
vessel, at the wheel, and he kept his feet, though the water rose 
above his waist; as high, indeed, as his arms. As for myself, 1 
was saved only by the main rigging, into which 1 was driven, and 
where 1 lodged, 

1 could not but adniire the coolness and conduct of Marble, even 
at that terrific moment. In the first place, , he put the helm hard 
down and lashed the wheel, the wisest thing that could be done by 
men in our situation. ‘ This he did bj means ot that nautical iri- 
stinct which enables a seaman to act, rn the direst emergencies, al- 
most without reflection, or as one closes his ey^es to avoid danger to 
the pupils. Then he gave one glance at the state of things inboard, 
rirnning forward with the end of a rope to throw to Diogenes, 
shorrld the cook rise near the ship. By the time he was satisfied 
the hope ot doing anything in that way vras vain, I was on deck, 
and we two stood facing each other in the midst of the scene of 
desolation and ruin that was around us. Marble caught my hand 
with a look that spoke as plainly as words. It told me the joy he 
felt at seeing 1 was spared, his determination to stick by me to the 
last; yet, how low were his hopes of rrltimate preservation!. It was 
such a look as any man would be glad to receive from a comrade in 
the heat of battle; nevertheless, it w^as not a look that promised 
victory. 

The situation of the ship would now have been much better than ' 
rt had been, in many respects, were it not for the wreck. All the 
masts forward had gone over thejee bow, and would have lain in a 
sufficient favorably situatioh for a strong crew to get rid of .them; 
but in our case we were compelled to let things take their course. 

It is true, we could' cut away, and this we began to do prePy freely, - 
but the lower end of the foremast lay on the forecastle, where it was 
grinding everything near it to pieces, with the heaving and setting 
bt the waves. All the bulwarks in that part of the ship threatened 
soon to be beaten down, and I felt afraid the cathead would be lorn 
violently out of the ship, leaving a bad leak. Leaks enough there 
w’ere, as it w\as; the launch, caboose, water-casks, and spare spars^ 
in driving overboard, having forced out limber-heads, and otlier 
supports, in a way to split the plank sheer, which let in the water 
fast, every time the lee gunwale went umlei. 1 gave up my sugars 


MILES WALLINGFOED. 


202 

and coflees from the first, bringing my hopes down as low as the 
saving of the ship, the instant 1 saw the state of the upper works. 

Marble and 1 had not been educated in a school that is apt to 
despair. As for my mate, had’ he found himself on a plank in the 
middle of the Atlantic I do believe he would have set about rigging 
•a jury-iriast, by splitting ofl a piece of the hull of his craft and 
spreading his shirt by way of sail. 1 never knew a more in-and-in- 
bred seaman, who, when one resource' failed, invariably set about 
the next best visible expedient. We were at a loss, however, 
whether to make an effort to get ltd of tlie foremast, or not. With 
the exception of the damages it did on the forecastle, it was of use 
to us, keeping the ship’s b^ow up to the wind, and making better 
weather for us, on deck. The after-masts standing, while those 
forward were gone, had the effect to press the stern of the vessel to 
leeward, while this support in the water prevented her bows from 
falling off, and we rode much nearer to the wind than is usual with 
a ship that is lying-to. It is true, the outer end of the fallen spars 
began to drive to leeward; and, acting as a long Iqver, they were 
gradually working the broken end of the foremast athwart the fore- 
castle, ripping and tearing away everything on the gunwale, and 
threatening the foot of the main,Slay. This made it desirable to be 
lid of the wreck, while on the other hand, there was the danger of 
the ship’s bottom beating against the end of the mast, did the latter 
get overboard. Under all" these circumstances, however, we de- 
termined to cut as much of the gear as possible, and let the fallen 
spars work themselves clear of us, if they could. 

Our job was by no means easy. It was difficult to stand even on 
the deck of the “ Dawn ” in a time like that, and this difficulty was 
greatly increased forward by having so little to hold on by. But 
work we did, and in a way that cleared most of the rigging from 
the ship in the course of the next halt hour. "W e were encouraged 
by the appearances of the weather too, the gale having broken, and 
promising to abate. The ship grew a little easier, 1 thought, and 
we moved about with more confidence of not being washed away by 
the seas that came on board us. After a time, we took some re- 
freshments, eating the remains of a former meal, and cheered our 
hearts a little with a glass or two of good sherry. Temperance may 
be very useful, but so is a glass of good wine, when properly used. 
Then we went at it again, working with a will and with spirit. The 
wrecli aft wanted very little to carry it over the side, and going 
aloft with an ax I watched my opportunity, cut one or two of the 
shrouds and stays, just as the ship lurched heavily Jo leeward, and 
got rid of the whole in the sea, handsomely, without further injury 
to the ship. This was a good deliverance, the manner in which the 
spars had tlireshed about, having menaced our lives before. We 
now attacked the wreck forward, for the last time, feeling certain 
we should get it adrift, could we sever the connection formed by 
one or two of the larger ropes. The lee-shrouds in particular gave 
us trouble, it being impossible to get at them inboard, the fore- 
channels being half the time under water, and the bulwarks in their 
w’ake being all gone. It was, in faqt, impossible to stand there to 
work long enough to clear or cut all the lanyards. Maible "w^as an 
adventurous fellow aloft, on all occasions, and seeing guod footing 


MILES WALLII^GFOKb. • 203 

about the top, without saying a word to me, he seized an ax, and 
literally ran out. on the mast, where he began to cut the collars ot 
the rigging at the mast-head. This was soon done, but the spars 
were no sooner clear than, impelled by a w^ave that nearly drowned 
the mate, the end of the foremast slid oft the forecastle into the sea, 
leaving the ship virtually clear of the wreck, but my mate adrift on 
the last; I say virtually clear, for the lee fore-topsail-brace still re^ 
mained fast to the ship, by some oversight in clearing away the 
smaller ropes. The effect of this restraint was to cause the wholh 
body of the wreck to swing slowly round, until it rode by this rdpe 
alone. 

Here was a new and a most serious state of things! I knew that 
my mate would do all that man could perform, situated. as ho was, 
but what man could swim against such a sea, even the short dis- 
tance that interposed between the spars and. the ship? The point 
of the wreck nearest the vessel was the end ot the lopsail-yaid to 
which the brace led, and this was raised from (he water b}’ the 
strain (the other end ot the brace leading aloft) fathoms at a time, 
rendering it extremely difficult for Marble to reach the rope, by 
means of which I could now see, notwithslanding’all the difficulties, 
he hoped to regain the vessel. The voice coirld be heard by one 
directly to leeward, the howling of the winds and the roar of the 
waters having materially lessened within the last few hours. I 
shouted to Marble, therefore, my intentions. 

“ Stand by to get the brace as 1 ease it oft, inboard,” 1 cried; 
‘‘ then you will be safe!” 

The mate understood me, giving a gesture of assent with his arm. 
When both were ready, 1 eased off the rope suddenly, and Marble, 
partly by crawling and partly by floating and dragging himself by 
the hands, actually got to the yard-arm, which was immediately 
raised from the water, however, by the drift made by the spars, 
while he was achieving his object. I trembled as 1 saw this stout 
seaman, the water dripping from his clothes, thus elevated in the 
air with the angry billows rolling beneath him, like lions leaping 
upward to catch the adventurer in their grasp. Marble's hand was 
actually extended to reach the brace, when its block gave way with 
the strain. The eye ot the strap slipping from the yard, down went 
the spar into the water. Next the trough of the sea hid everything 
from- my sight, and 1 was left in the most painful doubt of the result, 
when I perceived the mate lashing himself to the top, as the portion 
of the wreck that ffi^ated the most buoyantly. He had managed to 
get in again, and coolly went to woik to secure himself in the best 
berth he could find, the instant he regained the main mass of the 
wreck. As he rose on the crest of the sea the poor fellow made a 
gesture of adieu to me, the leave taking ot the mariner! 

Ill this manner did it please divine Providence to separate us 
four, wdio had already gone through so much in company! , With 
what moody melancholy did 1 watch the wreck, as it slowly drifted 
from the ship. 1 no longer thought of making further efforts to 
save the “Dawn,” and I can truly say, that scarce a thought, in 
connection with my own life, crossed my mind. There 1 stood for 
quite an hour, leaning against the foot of the mizzen-mast, with 
folded arms and riveted eyes, regardless ot the pitches, and lurches, 


204: 


MILES WALLIisGFOliD. 


and i^olling o4 the ship, \yilh all my faculties and thoughts fastened 
on the form' of Marble, expecting each lime that the top rose to 
view to find it empty, lie was too securely lashed, however, to 
strike adrift, though he was nearly half the time under water. It 
was impossible t,o do anything to save him. No boat was left; had 
there beeii one it could not have lived, nor could 1 have managed it 
alone. Spars he had already, but what must become of bim with- 
out food or water? 1 threw two breakers of the last into the sea, 
and a box of bread, in a sort of idle hope they might drift down 
near the wreck, and help to prolong the" sufferer’s life. They were 
all tossed about in the caldron of the ocean, and disappeared to lee- 
ward, 1 knew not whither. When Marble was no longer visible 
from deck, I went into the maintop and watched the mass of spars 
and rigging, so long as any portion of it could be seen. Then 1 set 
it by compass in order to know its bearing, and an hour before the 
sun went down, or ak soon us the diminished power of the wind 
would permit, 1 showed an ensign aloft, as a signal that I bore my 
mate in mind. 

“He knows 1 will not desert him as long as there is hope— so 
long as 1 have life.!’’ 1 muttered to m5’'self ; and this thought was a 
relief to my mind, in that bitter moment. 

Bitter moment, truly! Time has scarcely lessened the keenness 
of the sensations 1 endured, as mehaory traces the feelings and in- 
cidents of that day. From the hour when 1 sailed from home 
Lucy’s image was seldom absent from my imagination ten minutes 
at a time; 1 thought of her, sleeping and waking; in all my iroubles; 
'the interest of the sea-fight l had seen could not prevent this 
recurrence of my ideas to their polar star, their powerful magnet; 
but 1 do not remember to have thought of Lupy even once after 
Marble was thus carried away from my side. Neb, too, with his 
patient servitude, his virtues, his faults, his dauntless courage, his 
unbounded devotion to mj^self, had taken a strong hold on my 
heart, and his loss had greatly troubled me, since the lime it oc- 
curred. But 1. remember to have thought much of Lucy, even after 
Neb was swept away, though her image became temporarily lost to 
my mind, during the first "few houia 1 was thus separated from 
Marble. 

By the time the sun set the wind had so far abated, and the sea 
had gone down so much, as to remove all further apprehensions 
from the gale. The ship lay-to easily, and 1 had no occasion to 
give myself any trouble on her account. Had there been light 1 
liiould now have put the helm up. and run to leeward, in the hope 
, of finding the spars, and at least of keeping near Marble; but fear- 
ful of passing him in the darkness 1 deferred that duty until the 
morning. All 1 could do was to watch the weather, in order to 
make this effort, before the wind should shift. 

What a night 1 passed! As soon as it was dark 1 sounded the 
pumps, and found six feet of water in the hold. It was idle for one 
man to attempt clearing a vessel of the “ Dawn’s ” size; and 1 gave 
myself no further thought in the matter. So much injury had been 
done the upper works of the ship that I had a sort of conviction she 
must go down, unless fallen in with by some other craft. 1 can not 
say apprehension for my own fate troubled me any, or that 1 thought 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 205 

of the mill to my fortunes that was involved in the loss of the ship. 
]\ly my mind reverted constantly to my companions; could I haVere- 
covered them 1 should have been happy, for a time, at least. 

slept two or three hours toward morning, overcome with fa- 
tigue. When 1 awoke, it was in consequence of receiving the sun’s 
rays in my face. Springing to my feet, 1 cast a contused andjiur- 
ried glance around me. The wind w^as still at north-east, but it 
barel}’’ blew a good whole-sail breeze, ^he sea had gone down, to 
the regular roll of the ocean; and a finer day never shone upon the 
Atlantic. 1 hurried eagerly on deck, and gazed on the ocean to lee- 
ward, with longing eyes, to ascertain it anything could be seen of 
the wreck of our spars. Nothing was visible. From the maintop, 
1 could command a pretty wide horizon; but the. ocean lay a bright, 
glittering blank, the crests of its own waves excepted. 1 felt cer- 
tain the “ Dawn ” was so weatherly, that the spars were to leeward; 
but the ship must have forged miles ahead, during the last twelve 
hours; and there was almost the equal certainty of her being a long 
distance to the southward of the floating hamper, her head having 
lain in that direction since the time she broached-to. To get her off 
before the wind, then, was my first concern, after which 1 could en- 
deavor to force her to the northward, running the chance of falling 
in with the spars. Could 1 find my male, we might still die to- 
gether, which would have been a melancholy consolation just ther 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Father of all ! In every age, 

In every clime, adored ! 

By saint, by savage, or by sage — 

Jehovah! Jove! or Lord! 

Pope. 

Feeling the necessity of possessing all my strength, 1 ate a 
breakfast before 1 commenced work; It was with a heavy heart 
and but little appetite that 1 took this solitary meal; but 1 felt that 
its effects Were good. When finished, I knelt on the deck, and 
prayed to God, fervently, asking his divine assistance in my ex- 
tremity. Why should an old man, whose race is nearly run, hesi- 
tate to own^ tliatinthe pride of hisyouth and strength, he was made 
to feel how insufficient we all are for our wants? Yes, 1 prayed; 
and 1 hope in a fitting spirit, for I felt that this spiritual sustenance 
did me even more good than the material of which I had just before 
partaken. When I rose from my knees, it was with a sense of hope, 
that I endeavored to suppress a little, as both unreasonable and 
dangerous. Perhaps the spirit of my sainted sister was permitted 
to look down on me, in that awful strait, and to offer up its own 
pure petitions in behalf of a brother she had so warmly loved. I 
began to feel myself less alone, and the work advanced the better 
from this mysterious sort of consciousness of the presence of the 
souls of those who had felt an interest in me, while in the body. 

My first measure was to lead the jib-stay, which had parted near 
the head of its own mast, to the head of the mainmast. This 1 did 
by bending on a piece of another rope. 1 then got up the halyards, 


206 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


and loosened and set the jib: a job that consumed quite two hours. 
Ot course, this sail did not set very well, but It was the only mode 
1 had of gelling forward canvas on the ship at all. As soon as the 
jib was set, in this imperfect manner, 1 put the helm up, and got 
Ibe ship before the wind. 1 then hauled out the spanker, and gave 
it sheet. By these means, aided by the action of the' breeze on the 
hull and spars, 1 succeeded in getting something like three knots" 
way on the ship, keeping off a little northerly, in which direction I 
felt sensible it was necessary to proceed inquest ot the spars. 1 
estimated the drift ot the wreck at a knot an hour, including the 
good and moderate weather; and, allowing for that of the ship it- 
self, 1 supposed it must be by that time some twelve miles to lee- 
ward of me. These twelve miles 1 managed to run by noon, when 
1 hauled up sufficiently to biing the wind abeam, heading north- 
wardly. As the ship would now steer herself, that is as small as it 
was necessary for me to go, 1 collected some food, look a glass, and 
went up into the maintop, to dine and to examine the ocean. 

The anxious, anxious hours I passed in that top! Not an object 
of any sort appeared on the surface of the wide ocean. It seemed 
as if the birds and the fishes had abandoned me to my loneliness. I 
watched and examined the surrounding sea, until my hands were 
tired with holding the dass, and my eyes became weary with their 
office. Fortunately, the breeze stood, though the sea went down 
fast, giving me every opportunity 1 could desire of ellecting my ob- 
ject. The ship yawed about a good deal, it is true, but on the 
Whole she made a very tolerable course. 1 could see by the water 
that she had a motion of about two knots for most of the time, 
though, as the day advanced, the wind began to tall, and her rate 
of going diminished quite one half. 

At length, after passing hours aloft, 1 went below to look after 
things there. On sounding the pumps I found ten feet of water in 
the hold, though the upper works were now not at all submerged, and 
the motion ot the vessel was very easy. That the “ Dawn ” was 
gradually sinking under me, was a fact too evident to be denied; 
and all the concerns of this life began to narrow into a circle of 
some four-nnd-twenty hours. That lime the ship would probably 
float, possibly a little longer should the weather continue moderate. 
The wind was decreasing still, and, thinking 1 might have a tran- 
quil night, I determined to pass that time in preparing for the last 
great change. 1 had no will to rhake — little to leave, indeed, after 
my vessel was gone; for the debt due to John Wallingford would 
go far tow^ard absorbing all my pioperty. When his $40,000 were 
paid under a forced sate, little, indeed, would be the residue. 

The state of things would have been somewhat different under a 
fair sale, perhaps, but a forced sale would probably sweep away 
everything. It is tiue my creditor wuis my heir; for, a legacy to 
Lucy’^ and a few bequests to my slaves excepted, 1 had fairly be- 
queathed all 1 owned to my cousin. As for the blacks themselves, 
under the new policy of New York, they would soon be free; and 1 
had no other interest in their fate than. that of habit and affection. 

But why speak of property in the situation in which Iw^as placed? 
Had 1 owned the whole of Ulster County, my wishes, or any new 
will 1 might make, must die with me. The ocean would soon m- 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 207 

gulf the whole. Had 1 no desire to make an efiort to save m 5 ’'self, 
or at least to prolong my existence, by means ot a raft?~of boat 
there was none in the ship. The English had (he yawl, and the 
launch had been diiven away. The spare spars were swept over- 
board, as well as all the water-casks that had been lashed on' deck. 
1 might have 'done something with the hatches and niizzen-topmast, 
possibly, could 1 have gotten the last into the water, but the expe- 
dient was so desperate it did not hold out any hopes to be encour- 
aged. Even the hand-spikes had gone in the launch, and two pt the 
buo 3 "s had been left witli the anchors on the Irish coast. Under all 
the circumstances, it appeared to me that it would be more manly 
and resigned to meet my fate at once, than to attempt any such fee- 
ble projects to prolong existence for a few hours. 1 came to the 
resolution, therefore, to go down in my ship. 

What was there to make life particularly dear to me? My home, 
my much-beloved Clawbonny, must go at all events; and I will 
own that a feeling of bitter distrust crossed my mind as 1 thought 
ot these things, and that 1 began to fancy John Wallingford might 
have urged me to borrow nis money, expressly to obtain a chance 
of seizing an estate that was so much prized by every Wallingford. 
1 suppressed' this feeling, however, and in a clear voice. Tasked my 
cousin’s pardon, the same as if he had been within hearing. Of 
Lucy, 1 had no longer any hope; Grace was already in heaven; and 
the world contained few that cared for me. After ]\Tr. Hardinge, 
Lucy alwa 3 ''s excepted, I now loved Marble and Neb the most, and 
these two were probably both dead, or doomed, like myself. We 
must all yield up our lives once; and though my hour came ratlier 
early, it should be met as a man meets everything, eren to death it- 
self. 

Some time before the sun set, 1 went aloft to take a last look at 
the ocean. 1 do not think my desire to prolong my existence car- 
ried me up the mast, but there was a lingering wish to look after my 
mate. The ocean beamed gloriously that eventide, and 1 fancied 
that it was faintly reflecting the gracious countenance of its divine 
Creator, in a smile of beneficent love. I felt my heart soften, as 1 
gazed around me, and 1 fancied heavenly music was singing the 
praises of God on the face of the great deep. Then 1 knelt in the 
top and prayed. 

Rising, 1 looked at the ocean, as 1 supposed, for the last time. 
Not a sail was anywhere to be seen. 1 can not say that 1 felt disap- 
pointed. 1 did not expect relief from that quarter. My object was 
to find my mate, that we might die together. Slowly 1 laised the 
glass' and the horizon was swept with deliberation. Nothing ap- 
peared. 1 had shut the glass, and was about to sling it, when my 
eye caught the appearance of something floating on the surface of 
the ocean, within a mile of the ship, well to leeward, and ahead. 1 
had overlooked it, in consequence of ranging above it with the glass, 
in the desire to sweep the horizon. I could* not be mistaken; it was 
the wreck. In a moment the glass was leveled, and 1 assured my- 
self of the fact. The top was plainly visible, floating quite high 
above the surface, and poitions of the yards and masts were occa- 
sionally seen, as the undulations ot the ocean left them bare. I saw 


208 


MILES AVALLIN^GEORD. 

s 

an object, lyinc; motionless across the top-rim, which I supposed to 
be Marble, ile was either dead or asleep. 

What a revulsion of feeling came over me at this sight! A min- 
ute before, andl was completely isolated; cut off from the rest of 
my species, and resigned to a fate that seemed to command my 
quitting this state of being, without further communion with man- 
kind. Everything was changed. Here was the companion of so 
many former dangers, the man who had taught me my profession, 
one that 1 can truly say 1 loved, quite near me, and possibl.y dying 
for the want of that aid which 1 might render! 1 w'as on deck in 
the, twinkling of an eye; ttie sheets were etised off, and the helm put 
up. Obedient to my wishes, the ship fell off, and 1 soon got a 
glimpse, from the spot where 1 stood, at the wheel, of the wreck a 
little clear of the weather cathead. By this time, the wind was so 
light, and the siiip had got to be so deep in the water, that the mo- 
tion of the last was very slow. Even with the helm up, it scarce 
equaled half a knot; 1 began to fear I should not be able to reach 
my goal, after all. 

There were now intervals of dead calm ; then the air would return 
in little puffs, urging the great mass heavily onward. I whistled, 1 
prayed, 1 called aloud for wind; in short, 1 adopted all the ex- 
pedients known, frotn that of the most vulgar nautical superstition, 
np to profound petitions to the Father of Mercies, i presume all 
this brought no change, though the passage of time did. About 
half an hour before the sun dipped into the ocean, the ship was 
within a hundred yards of the wreck. This 1 could ascertain by 
stolen glances, for the direction 1 was now compelled to steer, placed 
the forward part of the ship between me and my object, and 1 did 
not dare quit the wdreel to go forward, lest 1 should miss it alto- 
gether. 1 had prepared a grapnel, by placing a small kedge in the 
lee- waist, with a hawser bent, .and, could I come within a tew feet 
of the floating hamper, 1 felt confident of being able to hook into 
something. It appeared to me, now, as if the ship absolutely re- 
fused to move. Go ahead she did, notwithstanding, though it was 
only her own length in flve or six minutes. My hasty glances told 
me that two more of these lengths wodld effect my purpose, i 
scarce breathed, lest the vessel should not be steered with sufficient 
accuracy. It was strange to me that Marble did not hail, and, 
fancying him asleep, 1 shouted with all my energy, in order to arouse 
him." “ What a joyful sound that will be in his ears,” I tliought 
to mj-self, though to me, my own voice seemed unearthl}’- and 
alarnring. ISio answer c.ame. Then 1 felt a slight shock, as* if the 
cutwater had hit something, and a low scraping sound against the 
copper announced that the ship had hit the wreck. Quitting the 
wheel, I sprung into the waist, raising the kedge in my arms. Then 
came the upper spars wheeling strongly round, under the pressure 
of the vessel’s bottom against the extremily of the lower mast. 1 
saw nothing but the great maze of hamper and wreck, and could 
scarcely breatlie in the* anxiety not to miss my aim. Theie was 
much reason'to fear the whole mass wmuld float aft, leaving me no 
chance of throwu'ng the -hedge, for the smaller masts no longer in- 
clined in, and 1 could see that the ship and wreck- w^ere slowly sep- 
arating. A low thump on the bottom, directly beneath me, drew 


MILES WALLIIs'GFORD. 209 

my head over tlie side, and 1' found the fore:yard, as it might be, 
a-cock-bilh with one end actually scraping alon}r the ship’s bottom. 
It was the only chance I had, or was likely to have, and I threw 
the kedge athwart it. Luckily, the hat\^ser, as it tautened., brought 
a fluke directly under the yard, within the Flemish horse, the brace- 
block, and all the other ropes that are fitted to a lower yard-arm. 
So slow was the motion of the ship, that my grapnel held, and the 
entire body of the wreck began to yield to the pressure. 1 now 
jumped to the jib halyards and down-haul, getting that sail reduced, 
then 1 halt-brailed the spanker; this w^as done lest my hold on the 
yard should give way^. 

1 can say, that up to this instant, 1 had not even looked tor Mar- 
ble. So intense had been my apprehensions of missing the "wreck, 
that 1 thought of nothing else, could see nothing else. Satisfied, 
however, that my fast w’oiild hold, 1 ran forward to look' down on 
the top, that the strain of the hawser had brought directly under the 
very bow, over'wdiich it had fallen. It w\as empty! The object 1 
had mistaken for Marble, dead or asleep, was a part of the bunt of 
the maintop-sail, that had been hauled dowm over the top-rim, and 
secured there, either to form a sou of shelter against the breaking 
seas, or a bed. Whatever-may have been the intention of this nest, 
it no longer had an occupant. Marble had probably been washed 
away, in one of his adventurous efforts to make himself more secure 
or rnore comfortable. , , 

The disappointment that came over me, as 1 ascertained this fact, 
was scarcely iess painful than the anguish 1 had felt when 1 first, 
saw my mate carried off into the ocean. I here would have been a 
melancholy satisfaction in finding his body, that we might have 
gone to the bottom together, at least, and thus have slept in a com- 
mon grave^ in the depths ot that ocean over which we had sailed so 
many thousands of leagues in company, 1 went and threw myself 
on the deck, regardless of mj own fate, and wept in very bitterness 
of heart.. 1 had arranged a mattress on the quarier deck, and it w’as 
on that 1 now threw nryself. Fatigue overcame me, in the end, and 
1 fell into a deep sleep. As my recollection left me my last thought 
was that 1 should go dovpn with the ship, as 1 lay there. So com; 
plete was the triumph of nature, that 1 did not even dream. I do 
not remember ever to bav-e enjoyed more profound and refreshing 
shimoers; slumbers that continued until returning light awoke me. 
To that night’s rest 1 am probably indebted, under God, for having 
the means of, relating these adventures. 

It is scarcely necessary to sa^^ that the night had been- tranquil; 
otherwise, a seaman’s ears w’ould have given him the alarm, ’^hen 
1 au'se, 1 found the ocean glittering like a mirror, with no other 
motion than that which has "so often been likened to the slumbering 
respiration of some huge animal. The wreck was thumping against 
the ship’s bottom, announcing its presence, before 1 left the mat- 
tress. Of wind tliere was literally not a breath. Once in a •v\iiile, 
the ship would seem to come up to breathe, as a heavy ground- 
sw-ell rolled along her sides, and the wash ot the element told the 
circumstances of such a visit;, else, all was as still as the ocean in 
its infancy. 1 knelt again, and prayed to that dread Being, with 


210 MILES WALLINGPORD. 

“Whom, it now. appeared to me, 1 stood alone, in the center ot the 
universe. 

Down to the moment wljen 1 arose from my knees, the thou^jht 
ot making an effort to save myseJf, or to try to prolong existence a 
lew hours, by means of the wreck, did not occur to me. But when 
1 came to look about me; to note the tranquil condition ot the 
ocean, and to heed the chances, small as they were, that offered, the 
love of life was renewed within me, and 1 seriously set about the 
measures necessary to such an end. 

The first step w^as to sound the pumps anew. The water had not 
gained in the night as rapidly as it had gained throughput the pre- 
ceding day. But it had gained; there being three feet more of it 
then when 1 last sounded — the infallible evidence of the existence 
a leak that no means of mine could stop. It was, then, hopeless 
to think of saving the ship. She had settled in the water, already, 
so as to bring the lower bolts ot both fore and main-channels awash; 
and I supposed she might float for four and-twenty hours longer, 
unless an injury that 1 had discovered under the larboard cathead, 
and which had been received from the wreck, should sooner get 
under w’ater. It appeared to me that a butt had been started there: 
such a leak would ceitainly hasten the fate of the vessel b}’- some 
hours, should it come fairly into the account. 

Having made this calculation as to the time I had to do it in, 1 
set seriously about the job of making provisions with my raft. In 
one or two particulars, 1 could not much improve the latter; for, 
the yards lying underneath the masts, it rendered the last as buoy- 
ant as was desirable in moderate weather. It struck me, however, 
that by getting the topgallant and royal-masts, with their yards in, 
around the top, 1 might lig a staging, with the aid ot the hatches, 
that would not only keep me entirely . out of water in mild weather, 
but which would contain all one man could consume, in, the way of 
victuals and drink, for a month to come. To this object, then, 1 
next gave my attention. 

1 had no great difiSculty in getting the spars 1 have mentioned, 
loose, and in hauling them alongside of the top. It was a job that 
required time rather than strength; for my movements “were greatly 
facilitated by the presence of the topmast-rigging, which remained 
in its place, almost as taut as when uprighi. The other rigging 1 
cut, and having got out the fids of the two masts, one at a time, 1 
pushed the spars through their respective caps with a toot. Of 
course, 1 was obliged to get into the water to work; but 1 had thrown 
aside most of my clothes for the occasion, and the weather being 
warm, 1 felt greatly refreshed with my bath. In two hours’ time 1 
had my topgallant-mast and j^ard well secured to the top-iim and the 
caps, having sawed them in pieces for the purpose. 1 ue fastenings 
W'cre both spikes and lashings, the capenter’s stores furnishing 
plenty ot the former, as well as all sorts ot tools. 

This part of the arrangement, completed, I ate a hearty breakfast, 
when 1 Degan to secure the hatches, as a sort of floor, on my primitive 
joists. This w^as not difficult, the hatches being long, and the rings 
enabling me to lash them, as well as to spike them. Long before 
the sun had reached its meridian, 1 had a stout little platform, that 
.Was quite eighteen inches above the water, and which was sur- 


MILES WALLIIIGEOED. 


211 

rounded by a species of low ridge ropes, so placed as to keep articles 
from readily tumbling off it. The next measure was to cut all the 
sails from the yards, and to cut loose all the rigging and iron that 
did not serve to keep the wreck together. The reader can easily 
imagine how much more buoyancy 1' obtained by these eSpedimts. 
The fofesail alone weighed much more than 1 did myself, with all 
the stores 1 might have occasion to put on my platform. As. for 
the fore-topsail, there was little of it left, the canvas having mostly 
blown from the yard, before the mast went. 

My raft was completed by the time I felt the want of dinner; and 
a very good raft it was. The platform was about ten feet square, 
and it now floated quite two feet clear of the water. This was net 
much for a sea; but, after the late violent gale, 1 had some reason 
to expect a continuation of comparatively good weather. 1 should 
not have been a true seaman not to have bethought, me of a mast 
and a sail. 1 saved the fore-royal-mast, and the yard, with its can- 
vas, for such a purpose; determining to rig them when 1 had nothing 
else to do. 1 then ate my dinner, which consisted of the remnants 
of the cold meat and fowls 1 could find among the cabin eatables. 

1 his meal taken, the duty that came next w^as to provision my 
raft. It took but little time or labor. The cabin stores were quite 
accessible; and a bag of pilot-bread, another of that peculiarly 
American invention, called crackers, some smoked beef, a case of 
liquors, and fwo breakers of water, formed my principal stock. To 
this 1 added a pot of butter, with some capital smoked herrings, and 
some anchovies. We lived well in the cabin of the “ Dawn,'* and 
there was no dilficulty in making all the provision that six or eight 
men would have needed for a month. Perceiving that the raft; n^w 
it was relieved from the weight of the sails and rigging, was not 
much affected by the stores, I began to look about me in quest of 
anything valuable I might wish to save. The preparations 1 had 
been making created a sort of confidence in their success; a confi- 
dence (hope might be the better word) that was as natural, perhaps, 
as it was unreasonable. 1 examined the different objects that offered, 
with a critical comparison of their value and future usefulness, that 
would have been absurd, had it not afforded a melancholy proof of 
the tenacity of our desires in matters of this nature. It is certainly 
a sad thing to abandon a ship at sea, with all her appliances, and 
with a knowledge of the gold that she cost. The “ Dawn,” with 
her cargo, must have stood me in eighty thousand dollars, or even 
more; and here was I about to quit her, out on the ocean, with an 
almost moral certainty that not a cent of the money could be, or 
would be, recovered from the insurers.- These last only look risks 
against the accidents of the ocean, fire included; and there was a 
legal obligation on the insured to see that the vessel was properly 
found and manned. It was my own opinion that no accident would 
have occurred to the ship, in the late gale, had the full crew been 
on board; and that the ship was not sufficiently manned was, iri a 
legal sense, my own fault. 1 w^as bound to let the English carry 
her into port, and to await judgment— the law supposing that jus- 
tice would have been done in the premises. The law might have 
been greatly mistaken in this respect; but potentates never acknowl- 
edge their blunders. If 1 was w'ronged in the detention, the law 


212 


MILES WALLINGEOKL. 


presimied suitable dama.a’es. It is true, 1 might be ruined by the 
delay, through the debts left behind me; but the law, with all its 
purity, cared nothing for' that. Could 1 have shown a loss by 
means of a falling market, 1 might have obtained redress, provided 
the court chose to award it, and provided the party did not appeal ; 
or, it he did, that the subsec^uent decisions supported the fiijsL; and 
provided— all the decrees being in my favor— my Lord Harry Der- 
mond could have paid a few thousands in damages: a problem to 
be solved in itself. 

1 always carried to sea with me a handsome chest, that 1 had 
bought in one of my earlier voyages, and which usually contained 
my money, clothes, and other valuables. This chest 1 managed to 
get on deck, by the aid of a purchase, and over tlie ship’s side, on 
the raft. It was much the most troublesome task 1 had undertaken. 
To this 1 added my writing-desk, a mattress, two or three counter- 
panes, and a few other light articles, which it struck me might be 
of use— but which 1 could cast into the sea at any moment, should 
it become necessary. When all this was done, 1 conceived that my 
useful preparations were closed. 

It was near night, and I felt siuficiently fatigued to lie down and 
sleep. The water had gained very slowly kluring the last few hours, 
but the ship was now swimming* so low, that 1 thought it unsale to 
remain in the vessel, while asleep. I determined, therefore, lo take 
my leave of her, and go on the raft for that purpose, ^t struck me, 
too, it n-ight be unsafe to be too near the vessel when she w^ent down 
and 1 had barely time to get the spars a short distance from the ship, 
before darkness would come. Still, 1 was unwilling to abandon 
the “ 'Dawn ” altogether, since the spars that stood on board her^ 
would always be a more available signal to any passing vessel,Than 
the low sail 1 could set on the raft Should she float during the 
succeeding day, they would increase the chances of a rescue, and 
they oftered an advantage not to be lightly thrown away. 

' To force the spars away from the ship was not an easy task of 
itself There is an attraction in matter, that is Known to bring ves- 
sels nearer together in calms, and 1 had this principle of nature first 
to overcome; then to neutralize it, without the adequate means for 
doing either. Still I was very strong, and posssesed. all the resources 
of a seaman. The raft, too, now its length was reduced, was much 
more manageable than it had been originally, and in rummaging 
about the ’twixt-decks 1 had found a set of oars belonging to the 
launch, which had been stowed in the steerage, and which of course 
were preserved. These 1 had taken to the "raft, to strengthen my 
staging, or deck, and two of them had been reserved for the very 
purpose to which they were now applied. 

Cutting away the kedge, then, anil casting oft the other ropes, 1 
had used with which to breast-to the raft, 1 began to shove off, just as 
the sun was dipping. So long as 1 could pull by the ship, 1 did very 
well, for 1 adopted the expedient of hauling astern, instead of push- 
ing broad oft, under the notion that 1 might get a better drift, if 
quite from under the lee of the vessel, than it lying on her broadside. 
1 say the “ lee,” though there wasn’t a breath of air, nor scarcely 
any morion of the water. 1 had a line fast to a stern-davit, and 
placing myself with my feet braced against the chest, 1 soon over- 


213 


MILES.X WALLINGFORD. 

came the inertim oi ihe spars, and, exerting all my force, when 
it was once in motion, 1 succeeded in giving the raft an impetus that 
carried it completely past the ship. 1 confess 1 felt no personal ap- 
prehension from the suction, supposing the ship to sink while the 
raft was in absolute contact with it, but the agitation of the water 
might weaken its parts, or it might wash most of my stores away. 
This last consideration induced me, now, to go to work with the 
oars, and try to do all 1 could, by that mode of propelling my dull 
craft. 1 worked hard just one hour, by my watch; at the expira- 
tion of that time, the nearest end of the raft, or the lower part of the 
foremast, was about a hundred yards from the “ Dawn’s ” taftrail. 
This was a slow movement, and did not fail to satisfy me, that, if I 
were to be saved at all, it would be by means of some passing vessel, 
and not by my own progress. 

Overcome by fatigue, 1 now lay down and slept. 1 took no pre- 
cautions against the wind’s rising in the night; firstly, because I 
thougut it impossible from the tranquil aspects of the heavens and 
the ocean; and secondly, because 1 felt no doubt that the wash of 
the water and the sound of the winds would arouse me, should it 
occur differently. As on the previous night, 1 slept sweetly, and 
obtained renewed strength for any future trials. As on the preced- 
ing morning, too, 1 was awaked by the warm rays of the rising 
sun falling on my face. On first awaking, 1 did not know exactly 
where 1 was. A moment’s reflection, however, sufficed to recall the 
past to my mind, and 1 turned to examine my actual situation. 

1 looked for Ihe ship toward the end of the mast, or in the direc- 
tion where 1 had last seen her, but she was not visible. The raft had 
swung round in the night, J thought, and 1 bent my eyes slowly 
round the entire circle of the horizon, but no ship was to be seen. 
The “ Dawn ” had sunk in the night, and so quietly as to give no 
alarm!* 1 shuddered, for 1 could not but imagine what would have 
been my fate, had 1 been aroused from the sleep of the living only 
to experience the last agony as 1 parsed away into the sleep of the 
dead. 1 can not describe the sensation that came over me as 1 gazed 
around, and found myself on the broad ocean, floating on a little 
deck that was only ten feet square, and which was raised less than 
tw’o feet above the surface of the waters. It was now that I felt the 
true frailty of my position, and comprehended all its dangers. Be- 
fore, it had been shaded by the ship, as it might be, and 1 had 
found a species of protection in her presence. But the whole truth 
now stood before me. Eveu a moderate breeze would raise a sea that 
could not fail to break over the staging, and which must sweep 
everything away. The spars had a specific lightness, it is true, and 
they would never sink, or if they did sink, it would only be at the 
end of ages, when saturated with water and covered with barnacles; 
but, on the other hand, they possessed none of the buoyancy of a ^ 
vessel, and could not rise above the rolling waters sufficiently to 
clear their breakers. 

These were not comfortable reflections; they pressed on my mind 
even while engaged at my morning devotions. After performing, 
in the best manner 1 could, this nevei’*-ceasing duty, I ate a little, 
though 1 must admit it was with a small appetite. Then I made 
the best stowage 1 could of my effects, and rigged and stepped the 


214 


MILES WALLIKGFORD. 


mast, hoisting the sail as a signal to any vessel that might appear. 
1 expected wind ere long, nor was 1 disappointed — a moderate breeze 
epiinging up from the north-west about nine o’clock. This air was 
an immense relief to me in more ways than one. It cooled my 
person, which was suffering from the intense heat of a summer’s 
sun beating directly on a boundless expanse of water, and it varied, 
the scene that otlurwise possessed an oppressively wearisome same- 
ness. Unfortunately, this breeze met me in the bows; tor 1 had 
stepped my mast in the foremast, lashed it against the bottom of the 
top, which it will be remembeied was now perpendicular, and stayed 
it to the mast-heads and dead eyes of the topmast-rigging, all of 
which remained as when erect, though now floating on the water, 
i intended the fractured part of the foremast for my cut-water, and, 
of course, had to wear ship before 1 could gather any way. This 
singular maneuver occupied a quarter of an hour, my braces, tacks, 
and sheets not working particularly well. At the end of that time, 
however, 1 got round, and laid my yard square. 


CHAPTER XXin. . _ 

There was speech in their dumbness, language in their very gesture; they 
looked as they had heard of a world ransomed, or one destroyed. A notable 
passion of wonder appeared in them; but .the wisest beholder, that knew no 
more b\it seeing, could not say if the importance were joy or sorrow; but in the 
extremity of the one it must needs be.— Winter's Tale, 

As soon as the raft got fairly before the wind, and the breeze had 
freshened, 1 had an opportunity of ascertaining what it would do. 
The royal was a large one, and it stood well. 1 had brought a log- 
line and the slow-glass with me, as well as my quadrant, slate, etc., 
and began to think of keeping a reckoning. 1 had supposed the 
ship to be, when it fell calm, about two hundred miles from the 
Iknd, and 1 knew her to be in latitude 48*^ 37'^ The log-line told 
me the raft moved through the water, all that forenoon, at the rate 
of about half a knot in the hour; and could I keep on for fifteen or 
sixteen days, in a straight course, 1 might yet hope to get ashore. 1 
was not so weak, however, as to expect any such miracle to be 
wrought in my favor, though, had I been in the trades, the thing 
might have occurred. By cutting adrift the two yards, or by getting 
them fore and aft, in a line with the water, my rate of sailing misrht 
be doubled; and I began seriously to think of affecting this great 
change. Cut the yards adrift 1 did not like to do, their support in 
keeping me out of water being very important. By hauling on the 
lift, 1 did get them in a more oblique position, and in a measure 
thus lessened Iheir resistance to the element. 1 thought that even 
this improvement made a difference of half a knot in my move- 
ment. Nevertheless, it was tedious work to be a whole hour in 
going less than a single mile, when two hundred remained do be 
traveled, and the risks of the ocean were thus constantly impending 
over onel 

What a day was that! It blew pretty fresh at one time, and I began 
to tremble lor my staging, or deck, which got washed several times, 
though the topsail-yard made for it a sort of lee, and helped to pro- 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


215 


tect it. Toward the decline of the day, the wind went down, ana at 
sunsel everything was as tranquil as it had been on the previous 
evening. 1 thought 1 might have been eight or nine miles from the 
spot where the “ Dawn " went down, without computing the influ- 
ence of the currents, which may have set me all that distance back 
again, or so much further ahead, for anything 1 knew of the mat- 
ter. At sunset 1 took an anxious survey of the horizon, to see if 
any sail were in sight; but nothing was visible. 

Another tranquil night gave me another tranquil night’s rest. 1 
call the last tranquil, as it proved to be in one sense, though 1 was 
sorely troubled with dreams. Had 1 been suffering for nourish- 
ment, 1 certainly should have dreamed of food; but such not being 
the case, my thoughts took the direction of home and friends. 
Much of the time 1 lay half asleep and hall awake; then my mind 
would revert to my sister, to Lucy, to Mr. Hardins:e, and to Claw- 
bonny— which 1 fancied already in the possession of John Walling- 
ford, who was triumphing in-vhiS ownership, and the success of his 
arts. Then 1 thought Lucy had purchased the place, and w’^as liv- 
ing there with Andrew Drewett, in a handsome new house, built in 
the modern taste. By modern taste, 1 do not mean one of the 
Orecian-temple school, as 1 do not think that even all the vagaries 
of a diseased imagination, that was suffering under the calamities' 
of shipwreck, could induce me to imagine Lucy llardinge silly 
enough to desire to live in such a structure. 

Toward morning, 1 fell into' a doze, the fourth or fifth renewal of 
my slumbers, that night; and 1 remember that I had that sort ct 
curious sensation which apprises us itself, it was a dream. In the 
course of the events that passed through my mind, 1 fancied 1 over- 
heard Marble and ISIeb conversing. Their voices were low, and 
solemn, as 1 thought; and the words so distinct, that 1 still remem- 
ber every syllable. 

“ No, Neb,’ said Marble, or seemed to say, in a most sorrowful 
tone, one 1 had never heard him use even in speaking of his hermit- 
age. “ There is little hope for Miles now. 1 felt as if the poor boy 
was lost when 1 saw him swept awa}'^ from me, by them bloody 
spars striking adrift, and set him down as one gone from that mo- 
ment. You’ve lost an A No. 1 master, Mister Neb, 1 can tell you, 
and you may sarve a hundred before you fall in withhislikeag’in.” 

“ 1 nebber sarve anoder geptleum, Misser Marble,” returned the 
black; ‘‘ dat as sartaiu as gospel. 1 born in ’e Wallingford family, 
and 1 lib an’ die in ’e same family, or 1 don’t want to lib and die, at 
all. My real name be Wallingford, dough folk do call me Claw- 
bonny.” 

‘‘ Ay, and a slim family it’s got to be,” rejoined the mate. ” The 
nicest, and the handsomest, and the most virtuous young woman 
in all York State, is gone out of it, first: 1 knew but little of her; 
but, how often did poor Miles tell me all about her; and how he 
loved her, and how she loved him, and the like of all that, as is 
becoming; and something in the way that 1 love little Kitty, my 
niece you know, Neb, only a thousand times more; and hearing so 
much of a person is all the same, or even better, than to know them 
up and down, if a body wants to ftel respect with all his heart. 
^Secondly, as a person would say, now there’s Miles, lost too, for the 


210 MILES M'ALLIXGFOUD. 

Ship is saitainly gone down, Neb: otherwise she would have been 
seen floating hereabouts, and we may log him as a man lost over- 
board.” 

“ P’rhaps not, Misser Marble,” said the negro. ” Masser Mile 
swim like a fish, and he isn’t the gentleum to give up as soon as 
trouble come. P’rhaps he swimming about all dis tune.” 

“ Miles could do all that man could do, Neb, but he can’t swim 
two hundred miles— a South Sea man might do something like that, 
1 do suppose, but they’re unaccountably web-footed. No, no. Neb; 
1 fear we shall have to give him up. Providence swept him away 
from us, like, and we’ve lost him. Ah’s me — well 1 loved that 
boy better, even, than a Yankee loves cucumbers.” 

This may be thought an odd comparison to cross a drowsy im- 
agination, but it was one Marble often made; and if eating the. fruit, 
haorning, noon and night, will vindicate its justice, the mate stood 
exonerated from everything like exaggeration. 

” Ebbrybody lub Masser Mile,” saifl the warm-hearted Neb, or 1 
thought he so said. “ 1 nebber see dat we can go home to good old 
Masser Hardinge, and tell him how we lose Masser Mile!” 

“ It will be a hard job. Neb, but I greatly fear it must be done, 
however, we will now turn in and tiy to catch a nap, for the wind 
will be rising one of these times, and then we shall have need of 
keeping our eyes wide open.” 

After this I heard no more; but every word of that which 1 have 
related, sounded as plainly in my ears as if the speakers were within 
fifty feet of me. 1 lay in the same state, some time longer, endeavor- 
ing", as I was cuiious myself, of catching, or fancying, more words 
from those 1 loved so well; but no more came. Then 1 believe 1 fell 
into a deeper sleep, for 1 remember no more for hours. 

At dawn 1 awoke, the care on my mind answering for a call. 
This time, 1 did not w^ait for the sun to shine in my eyes, but, of 
the two, 1 rather preceded than awaited the return of the light. On 
standing erect, 1 round the sea as tranquil as it had been the previ- 
ous night, and there was an entire calm. It was still so dusky that 
a liille examination w^as necessity to be certain nothing was near. 
The horizon wns scarcely clear, though, making my first looiv tow’ard 
the east, objects were plainest in that quarter of the ocean. 1 Ihen 
turned slowly round, examining the vast expanse of water as 1 did 
so, until my back was toward the approaching light, and 1 faced 
the west. I thought 1 saw a boat within ten yards of me! At first. 
1 took it for illusion, and rubbed my eyes to make sure that 1 was 
awake. There it was, however, and another look satisfied me it 
was my own launch, or that in which poor Neb had been carried 
overboard. What was more, it was floating in the proper manner, 
appeared buoyant, and had two masts rigged. It is true that it 
looked dusky, as objects appear lust at dawn, but it was suf- 
ficiently distinct. 1 could not be mistaken; it was my own 
launch thus thrown within my reach by the mercy of divine'Provi- 
dence! 

This boat, then, had survived the gale, arid the winds and cur- 
rents had brought it ami the raft together. What had become of 
Neb? He must have rigged the masts, for none were stepped, of 
course, w^hen the boat was in the chocks. Masts, and sails, and 


MILES WALLIIS’'GEORD. 217 

oars were always kept in the boat, it is true; but the first coukl not 
be stepped without bauds. A strange, wild teeling came over me, 
as a man might be supposed to yield to ihe appearance of supernatu- 
ral agencies, and almost without iuteuding it, 1 shouted “ bout 
ahoy f ’ 

“Yohoy!” answered Marble; “who hails?” 

Tne form of the mate appeared rising in the boat; at the next in- 
stant, oS'eb stood at his side. The conversation of the previous 
night had been real, and those whom 1 had mourned as lost stood 
within thirty feet of me, hale, hearty, and unharmed. The boat and 
raft had approached each other in the darkness; and, as 1 afterward' 
learned, the launch, having fanned along for several hours of the 
night, stopped for want of wind nearly where I now saw her, and 
where the dialogue, part of which I overheard while half asleep, had ' 
taken place. Had the launch continued on its course only ten yards . 
further, it would have hit thefoietop-mast. That attraction of which 
I have already spoken, probably kept the boat and raft near each 
other throughout the night, and quite likel}^ had been slowly draw- 
ing them together while we slept. 

It would not be easy to say which party was the most astonished 
at this recognition. There was . Marble, whom 1 had supposed '' 
washed off the raft, safe in the launch; and here was 1,- whom the 
other two had thought to have gone down in the ship, sate on ‘the 
raft! We appeared to have changed places, without concert and 
without expectation of ever again meeting. Though ignorant of the 
means through w'hich all this had been brought about, 1 very well ’ 
kuovv what we did, as soon as each man w^as certain that he saw '' 
the other standing before him in the flesh. We sat down and wept 
like three children. Then Neb, too impatient to w^ait for Marble’s 
movements, threw himself into the sea, and swam to the raft.. 
When. he got on the staging, the honest fellow kissed my hands, 
again and again, blubbering the whole time like a girl of three or 
four years of age. This scene was interrupted only by the expostu- 
lations and proceedings of the mate. 

“ What’s this you’re doing, you bloody nigger?” cried Marble. 

“ Desarting your station, and leaving me here, alone, to manage this 
heavy launch, b}'' myself. It might be the means of losing all hands 
of us again, should a hurricane spring up suddenly, and wueck ns 
over again.” 

The truth was. Marble began to be ashamed of the weakness he - 
had betrayed, and was ready to set upon anything, in order to con- 
ceal it. Neb put an end to this sally, however, by plunging, again 
into the water, and swimming back to the boat, as readily as he kad 
come to the raft. s 

“ Ay, here you are. Neb, nigger like, and not knowing whether 
to stay or to go,” growled the mate, busy the wiiolelime in shipping 
two oars. “ You put me in mind of a great singer 1 once heard in 
Liverpool; a chap that would. keep shaking and quavering at the end 
of a varse, in such a style that he Bometimes did not know whether 
to let go or to hold on. It is onbecoiniug in men to forget them- 
selves, Neb; it w^e have found him we thought to be lost, it is no 
reason for desal ting our stations, or losing our wu’ts— Miles, my dear 
boy,” springing on tlie raft, and sending Neb adrift again, all alone. 


218 


3IILES WALLINGFORD. 

by the backwariT impetus of the leap—'* Miles, my dear boy, God 
be praised for thisi” squeezing both my hands as in a vise— “1 
don’t know how it is— but ever since I’ve fallen in with my mother 
and little Kitty, I’ve got to be. womanish. I suppose it’s what you 
call domestic aftection,” 

.. Here Marble gave in once more, blubbering just as hard as Neb 
himself had done. 

A few minutes later, all three began to know what we were about. 
The launch v/as hauled up alongside of- the stage, and we sat on the 
latter, relatinc the manner in which each of us had been saved. First, 
then, as to Neb: I have already told the mode in which the launch 
was swept overboard, and 1 inferred its loss from the violence of the 
tempest, and the height of the seas that were raging around us. It 
is true, neither Marble nor I saw anything ot the launch after it 
sunk behind the first hill of water to leeward, for we had too much 
to attend to on board the ship, to have leisure to look about us. But 
it seems the black was enabled to maintain the boat the right side 
up, and, by baling, to keep her afloat. .He drove to leeward, of 
course, and the poor fellow described in vivid terms his sensations, 
as he saw the rate at which he was driving away from the ship, and 
the manner in which he lost sight of liei remaining spars. As soon 
as the wind would permit, however, he stepped the masts, and set 
the two luggs, close-reefed, making stretches of three or four miles 
in length, to windward. This tin ely decision was the probable 
means of saving all otir lives. In the course ot a few hours, after 
he had got the boat under comixand, he caught a glimpse ot the 
fore-royal mast sticking out from the cap of a sea, and w'atching it 
eagerly, he next perceived the whole ot the ratt, as it came up on 
the same swell, with Marble half drowned, lashed to the top. It 
was quite an hour before Neb could get near enough to the raft, or 
spars, to make Marble conscious of his presence, and some time 
longer ere he could get the sufferer into the boat. This rescue did 
not occur one minute too soon, for the mate admitted to me he w'^as 
halt drowned, and that he did not think he could have held out 
much longer, when Neb took him into the boat. 

As for food and water, they fared well enough. A breaker of 
fresh water w^as kept in each boat, by my standing orders, and it 
seems that the cook, who was a bit of an epicure in his way, was in 
the habit of stowing a bag of bread, and certain choice pieces of beef 
and'pork, in the bows ot the launch, for his own special benefit. 
All these Neb had founci, somewhat the worse for salt water, it is 
true, but still in a condition to be eaten. There was sufficient in the 
launch, therefore, when we thus met, to sustain Marble and Neb in 
good heart tor a week. 

As soon as the mate was got off the raft, he took direction ot the 
launch. Unluckily, he made a long stretch to the northward, in- 
tending to tack and cross what he supposed must have been the po- 
sition of the ship, and come to my relief. While the launch was 
thus working its way to windw^ard, I fell in with, and took pos- 
session ot, the ratt, as has been described. Marble’s calculation was 
a good one in the main, but it brought him near the ‘* Dawn ” the 
night she sunk, and the raft and boat were both too low to be seen 
at any distance, the one from the other. It is probable we were not 


MILES AVALLIKGFORD. 


219 

more than ten or twelve miles asunder the most of the day.- J'was 
on the raft, Marble putting up his helm fo cross the supposed po- 
sition of the ship, about three in the afternoon. Tliis brought him 
down upon the raft about midnight, when the conversation I have 
related took place, within a few .yards ot me, neither party having 
tlic least notion of the proximity ot the other. 

1 was touched by the manner in which Marble and Neb spoke ot 
■ m}'^ supposed fate. Neither seemed to remember that he was washed 
away from a ship, but appeared to fancy that I v/as abandoned 
alone on the high seas in a sinking vessel. While 1 had been re- 
gretting their misforlunes, they had both thouaht of me as the party 
to be pitied, each fancying his own fortune more happy than mine. 
In a word, their concern for me was so great, that they altogether 
forgot to dwell on the hardships and dangers of their own particu- 
lar cases. 1 could not express all 1 felt on the occasion, but the 
events of that morning, and the feelings betrayed by iny two old 
shipmates, made an impression on my heart that time has not, nor 
ever can, efface. Most men who had been w’ashed overboard, would 
have fancied themselves the suffering party; but during the re- 
mainder of the long intercourse that succeeded, both Marble and 
Keb always alluded to this occurrence as it 1 weie the person lost 
and rescued. 

AVe were an hour or more intently occupied in these explanations, 
before either recollected the future. Then 1 felt it w’^as time to have 
some thought for our situation, which was sufficiently precarious as 
it was, tiiough Marble and Neb made light ot any risks that re- 
mained to be run. 1 was saved, as it might be, by a miracle, and 
that was all that they could .remember just then. But a breeze 
sprung up from the eastward, as the sun appeared, and the agitation 
of the raft soon satisfied me that my berth wouhi have been most 
precarious had 1 not been so providentially relieved. It is true. 
Marble made light of the present state of things wdiicli, compared 
to those into which he had been so suddenly launched, without food, 
water, or provisions of any sort, was a species of paradise. Never- 
theless, no time was to be wasted, and we had a long road to travel 
in the boat, ere we could deem ourselves in the least safe. 

M}' two associates had got the launch in as good order as circum- 
stances would allow. But it wanted ballast to carry sail hard, and 
they had felt this disadvantage, particularly Neb, w'hen he first got 
the boat on a wind. 1 could understand, by his account of the 
difficulties and dangers he "Experienced, though it came out inci- 
dentally, and without the smallest design to magnify his own merits, 
that nothing but his undying interest in me could have prevenled 
him from running off before the wind in order to save his own life. 
An opportunity now offered to remedy this evil, and. we went to 
work to transfer all the effects I had placed on the stage, to the 
launch. They made a little cargo that gave her stability at once. 
As soon as this was done we entered the boat, made sail, and hauled 
close on a wind, under reefed luggs, it beginning to blow smartly in 
puffs. 

I did not part from the raft without melancholy regrets. The 
materials of which it was composed were all that now remained of 
the “ Dawn.” Then the few hours of jeopardy and loneliness 1 had 


MILES IVALLIXGFORD. 


2'ZO 

passed on it, were, not to be forgotten. They, still recur vividly to 
my thoughts with deep, and, 1 trust, profitable reflections, The first 
hour after we cast off, we stood to the southward. The wind con- 
tinuing to increase in violence, and the sea to get up, until it blew 
too fresh for the boat to make any headway, or even to hold her 
own against it. Marble thought he might do better on the other tack 
— having some reason to suppose there was a current setting to the 
southward and eastward— and we wore round. After standing to 
the northward for a sufficient length of time, we again fell in with 
tlie spars — a proof that we were doing nothing tow^ard working our 
way to windward. 1 determined, at once, to make fast to them, and 
use them as a sort of floating anchor, so long as the foul wind 
lasted. We had some difficulty in effecting this object; but we 
finally succeeded in getting near enough under the lee of the top to 
make fast to one of its eye bolts — using a small bit of hawser that 
was in the boat for that purpose. The boat w^as then dropped a suffi- 
cient distance to leeward of the spars, where it rode head to sea, like 
a duck. This was a fortunate expedient; as it came on to blow 
hard, and we had something very lilie a little gale of wind. 

As soon as the launch was thus moored, we found its advantage. 
It shipped no more water, or very little, and we were not compeUed 
to be on the lookout for squalls, wdiich occurred every ten or fifteen 
minutes, with a violence that it would not do to trifle with. The 
w’eather thickened at these moments; and- there were intervals of 
half an hour at a time,'wheii we could not see a hundred yards from 
the boat, on account of the drizzling, misty rain that filled th« atmos- 
phere. There we sat, conversing sometimes of the past, sometimes 
of the future, a bubble in the midst of tlie raging wateis of the 
Atlantic, filled with the confidence of seamen. With the stout boat 
we possessed, the food and water we had, 1 do not think either now 
felt any great concern tor his fate; it being possible, in moderate 
weather, to run the launch far enough to reach an English jjort in 
about a w^eek. Favored by even a tolerably fair wind, the object 
might be effected in even two or three days. 

“ 1 t{\ke it tor granted. Miles,” Marble remarked, as we pursued 
our discourse, ” that your insurance will completely cover vour 
• whole loss. You did not forget to include freight in the risks?*” 

‘‘ So far from this, Moses, 1 believe myself to be nearly or quite a 
ruined man. The loss of the ship is unquestionably owing to the act 
of the : Speedy/ united to our own, in setting those Englishmen 
adrift on tlie ocean. Ko insurers will meet a policy that'has thus 
been voided.” 

‘‘Ah! thfe blackguards! This is worse than 1 had thought; but 
you can always make a harbor at Claw^bonny.” 

1 was on the point of explaining to Marble how 1 stood in relation 
to the paternal acres, when a sort of shadow Avas suddenly cast on 
the boat, and 1 fancied the rushing of the water seemed to be in- 
crcasihg at the same instant. We all three sat with our faces to 
leeward, and all turned them to windward under a common im- 
pulse. A shout burst from M.arble’s throat, and a sight met my eyes 
that caused the blood to rush in a torrent through my heart. Liter- 
ally within, a hundred feet of us, was a large ship, plowing the 
ocean with a furrow that rose to her hawse-holes, and piling before 


MILES WALLIKGEORD. 


521 

her, in her track, a mound of foam, as she came down upon us, 
with topmast and lower studding-sails set — overshadowing the sea 
liRe some huge cloud. There was scarcely time for inore than a 
glance, ere the ship was nearly upon us. As she rose on a swell, 
her black sides came up out of the ocean, glittering and dripping, 
anid the line of frowning guns seemed as it just lac q^uered. Neb 
was in the bow of the launch, while 1 was in the stern. j\ly arm 
was extended involuntarily, or instinctively would be the better 
word, to avert the danger, when it seemed to me that the next send 
of the ship would crush us beneath the bright copper of her bottom. 
Without Neb’s strength and presence of minci, we had been lost be- 
yond a hope; for swimming up to the spars against the sea that was 
on, would have been next to hopeless, and even if there, without 
food, or water, our fate would have been sealed. But Neb seized 
the hawser by which we were rid-ing, and hauled the launch ahead 
her length, or more, before the frigate’s larboard bowser-anchor set- 
tled down in a way that menaced crushing us. As it was. 1 actu- 
ally laid a hand on the muzzle of the third gun, while the ship w’ent 
foaming by. At the next instant she w'as passed; and we 'were 
safe. Then all three of us shouted together. Until that moment, 
none in the frigate were aware of our vicinity. But the shout gave 
the alarm, and as the ship cleared us, her taffrail was covered with 
officers. Among them was one gray-headed man, whom I recog- 
nized by his dress for the captain. He made a gesture,' turning an 
arm upward, and 1 knew* an order was given immediately after, by 
the instantaneous manner in which ihe taffrail was cleared. 

“ By George!” exclaimed Marble, ‘‘ 1 had a generalizing time of 
it, for*half a dozen seconds, Miles.” 

“ There was more risk,” 1 answered, ” than time to reflect on it. 
However,' the ship is about to lound-to, and we shall be picked 
up at last. Let us thank God for this.” 

It was indeed a beautiful sight for a seaman to note the manner 
in which' that old captain handled his vessel. Although we found 
the wind and sea too much for a boat that had to turn to windward, 
neither was of much moment to a stout frigate, that carried fifty 
guns, and which was running off with the wind on her quarter. 

She was hardly past us when 1 could see preparations making to 
lake in canvas. At the instant she overshadowed us with hnr huge 
wdngs, this vessel had topgallant- sails set, witii two top-masts and 
a lower studding-sail, besides carrying the lee-clew of her mainsail 
down, and tlie other customary cloth spread. Up went her main- 
sail almost as soon as the captain made the signal with his arm; then 
all three of the topgallant-sails wmre flying at the same moment.' 
Presently, the yards w'ere alive with men, and the loose canvas was 
rolled up, and the gaskets passed. While this was doing, dowm 
came all the studding-sails together, much as a bird shuts its wings. 
The booms disappeared immediately after. 

“ Look at that. Miles!” cried the delighted Marble. “ Although 
a bloody Englishman, (hat chap leaves nothing to be done over 
again. He puts everything in its place, like an . old woman stow- 
ing away her needles and thread. I’ll warrant ymu, the old blade is 
a keen one!” 


-222 


3irLES WALLHS'GFOKD. 


“The ship is well handled, certainly, and her people work like 
mariners who are trying to save the lives ot mariners.” 

While this was passing between us, the frigate was stripped to her 
three topsails, spanker, jib, and fore-course. Dowm came her yards 
next, and then they were covered with blue-jackets, like bees 
clustering around a hive. We had scarcely time to note this, ere the 
men lay in, and the yards wei'e up again with the sails reefed. 
Tliis was no sooner done, than the frigate, which had lufied the in- 
stant the steering sails were in, was trimmed close to a wind, and be- 
gan to toss the water over her spritsail -yards as sl)e met the waves 
like one that paid them no heed. Iso sooner was the old seaman who 
directed all this assured of the strength of the wind he had to meet, 
-than down went his mainsail again, and the tack was hauled 
aboard. 

The stranger was then under the smartest canvas a frigate enn 
carry — reefs in her topsails, with the courses set. Her sail could be 
shortened in an instant, yet slie was under a press ot it,’ more than 
an ordinary vessel would presume to carry, perhaps, in so strong^a 
breeze. . 

Notwithstanding the great jeopardy from which we had just 
escaped, and the imminent hazard so lately run, all three of us 
watched the movements of -tlie frigate with as much satisfaction as 
a connoisseur would examine a fine painting. Even Neb let several 
nigger expressions of pleasure escape him. 

' By the time sail could be sliortened and the ship hauled close on 
a wind, the frigate was nearer half than a quarter of a mile off. We 
had to wait, therefore, until she could beat up to the place w^here 
we lay. This she soon did, making one stretch to the southward 
until in a line with the boat, when she tacked and came toward us 
with her yards braced up, but having the wind nearly abeam. As 
she got within a cable’s length, both courses were hauled up, and 
lett hanging in the brails. Then the noble craft came rolling by us 
in the trough, passing so near that we might have spoken. The' old 
officer stood in the weather gangway with a trumpet, and he hailed 
when near enough to he heard. Instead ot asking questions to 
satisfy his own curiosity, he merely communicated his own in- 
tentions. * 

“I’ll heave-to, when past you,” he cried out, wearing ship to 
do so. “ You can then drop down under my stern, as clean as possi- 
ble, and we’ll throw you a rope.” 

1 understood the plan, which was considerate, having a regard to 
the feebleness of our boat’s crew, and the weight ot the boat itself. 
Accordingly, when she had room enough, the frigate wore, hauling 
up close on the other tack, and laying her mainyard square. As 
soon as the ship was stationary, Neh cast ofi thd hawser, and Mar- 
ble and he manned two oars. 'We gol the boat round without much 
risk, and, in less time than it takes to write it, were sending down 
toward the ship at a furious rale. 1 steered, and passe.d so near 
the frigate’s rudder, that 1 thought, for an instant. 1 hud gone loo 
close. A rope was hove as we cleared the lee-quarter of the frigate, 
and the people on hoard hauled us alongside. We caught the man- 
ropes, and were soon on the quarter deck. A respectable-looking, 
^Iderly man, of a square, compact frame, and a fine ruddy English 


MILES WALLINGFORD. • 22^ 

face, in a post captain’s undress, received me, with an extended 
hand, and a frank, genefous, hearty manner. 

“You are welcome on board the ‘ Briton,’ ’’ he said warmly; 
“ and 1 thank Uod that he has put it in our power to relieve you. 
Your ship must have been lost quite recently, as you do not seem to 
have suffered. When you feel equal to it, 1 should like to hear the 
name of your vessel, and the particulars of her disaster. 1 suppose 
it was in the late blow, which was a whacker, and did lots ot mis- 
chief along the coast. I see you are Americans, and that your boat 
is New York built; but all men in distress are countrymen.” 

This was a hearty reception, and one 1 had every reason to extol. 
So long as 1 stayed with Captain Rowley, as this ofticer was named, 
1 had no reason to complain of any change in his deportment. Had 
1 been his son, he bould not have treated me more kindly, taking me 
into his own cabin, and giving me a seat at his own table. I gave 
him an outline of what had happened to us, not deeming it neces- 
sary to relate the affair with the “ Speedy,” however; simply men- 
tioning the manner in which we had escaped from a French priva- 
teer, and leaving him to infer, should he see lit, that the rest of our 
crew had been carried away on that occasion. My reserve on the 
subject of the other capture, the reader will at once see, was merely 
a necessary piece of prudent caution. 

Captain Rowley had no sooner heard my story, which 1 made as 
short as possible, knowing that Marble and Neb had been cautioned 
on the subject, than he again took my hand, and welcomed nie to 
his ship. The mate was sent into the gun- room, and recommended 
to the hospitality of the lieutenants; while Neb was placed in the 
care of the cabin servants. A short consultation was then held 
about the boat, which it was decided must be sent adrift, after its 
effects were passed out of it; the “ Briton ” having no use for such 
a launch, nor any place to stow it. 1 stood at the gangwa.V, and 
looked with a melancholy eye at this last remnant of the “ Dawn ” 
that 1 ever beheld; a large eighty thousand dollars of my property 
vanishing from the earth, in the loss of that ship and her cargo 


CHAPTER XXIV. ■ 

Some shout at victory’s loud acclaim, 

Some fall that victory to assure, 

But time divulges that in name, 

Alone, our triumphs are secure. 

Duo. 

The “ Briton” had come out of the Cove ot Cork, only a few 
days before, and was bound on service, with orders to run off to the 
westward, a few hundred miles, and to cruise three months in a lati- 
tude that might cover the homeward-bound running ships from the 
American provinces, of which there were many in that early period 
of the w'ar. This was not agreeable news to us, who had hoped to 
belauded somewhere immediately, and who had thought, at first, 
on seeing the ship carrying a press of sail to the westward, that she 
might be going to Halifax. There was no remedy, however, and 
wm were fain to make the best ot circumstances. Captain Rowley 


324 . MILES WALLIXGEOEI). 

promised to put us on board tiie first vessel that oflered, and. that 
was as much as we bad a right to ask of liim. 

More than two months passed without the “ Briton’s ” speaking, 
or even seeing, a single sail! To these vicissitudes is the seaman 
subject; at one time he is in the midst of craft, at another the ocean 
seems deserted to hiraseli alone. CaptainRowley ascribed this want 
of success to the tact that the war was inducing the running ships 
to collect in convoys, and that his orders carried him too far north 
to permit his falling in with the xAmericans bound to and from Liv- 
erpool. Whatever may have been the reason, however, the result 
w\as the same tp us. After the gale of the equinox, the “ Briton ” 
stood to the southward, as far as Madeira, such a change' of ground 
being included in her instructions; and thence, after cruising three 
weeks in the neiahborhood of that island, she shaped her course for 
Plymouth. In the whole, the frigate had, at that time, brought-to 
and boarded some thirty sail, all of whom were neutrals, and not 
one of whom was bound to a port thatwmuld do us any good. The 
ship’s "water getting low, we w^ere now compelled to go in, and, as 
has been said, we made sail to the northward. The afternoon of 
the very day the “ Briton ” left her second cruising ground, a 
strange ship was seen directly on her course, which was pro- 
nounced to be a frigate, before the sun set. 

• The “ Briton ” maneuvered all night to close with the stranger, 
and with success, as he was only a league distant and a rery little 
to windward of her, "wlien 1 went on deck early the next morning. 
1 found the ship cleared for action, and a degree of animation pervad- 
ing the vessel, that 1 liad never before witnessed. The people were 
piped to breakfast just as 1 approached the captain to salute him 
with a “ good- morning.” 

“ Good-morning to you, Wallingford,” cried tie old man, in a 
cheerful %vay, “ you are just in lime to take a look at yonder French- 
man in his glory. Two hours hence 1 hope he’ll not appear quite 
as much of a beau as he is at this moment. She’s a noble craft, is 
she not, and quite of our owm force.” 

“As for the last, sir,” I answered, “ there does not seem much to 
choose — she is what you call a. thirty-eight, and mounts fifty guns, 1 
dare say. Is she certainly French?” 

“ As certainly as this ship is English. She can do nothing with 
our signal, and her rig is a character for her. Who ever saw an 
Enirlishman with such royal-masts and yards? So, Master Walling- 
ford, you must consent to take your breakfast an hour earlier than 
common, or go "without it, ^r’^-ogether. Ah— here is the steward to 
say It waits for us.” 

] followed Captain Bowdey to the cabin, where 1 toupd he had 
sent for Marble, to share our meal. The kind-hearted old gentle- 
man seemed desirous of adding this act of civility to the hundred 
others iliat he had already shown us. I liad received much generous 
and liberal treatment from Captain Rowley, but never before had he 
seemed so much disposed to act toward me as a father would act to 
a son as on that morning. 

“ I hope you have done justice to Davis’s cooker^", gentlemen,” 
he said, after the assault on the eatables began to abate a little in 
ardor, “ for this may be the last opportunity that will offer to en- 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


225 


joy it. 1 am an’ Englishman, and have what 1 hope is a humble 
confidence in the superiority of an English over a French ship; but 
1 very well know we never get even a French ship without working 
for it; and yonder gentleman may not leave us any crockery, for 
to-morrow. He evidently means to fight us, and 1 think will do 
liimself credit.” 

” 1 believe you English always go into action against the French 
with a confidence of victory,” 1 remarked. 

‘‘ Why, we have brought our lads up to that feeling, certainly, 
though 1 would not have you fancy 1 am quite of that way of think- 
ing. I am too old, and have seen too much service, Wallingford, 
not to know that every battle is liable to accidents and vicissitudes. 
There is some difference in service, 1 must suppose, though not half 
as much in men as is vulgarly imagined. The result is in the hands 
of God, and 1 do think we are fighting his battles, in this fearful 
war; therefore, 1 trust he will take care of us.” 

1 was surprised to find Captain Rowley, who was usually cheer- 
ful and gay, talking in this manner; but it did not become me to 
pursue the subject. In a minute or two, we rose from table, and I 
heard the order given to the steward to report to the first lieutenant, 
as soon as the table was cleared away, that the cabin bulkheads 
might be removed. Marble and I then passed below into a canvds 
berth that had been made for him, where we could consult together 
without danger of interruption. Just as we reached the place, the 
drum beat to quarters. This carried nearly every one else on deck, 
and left us virtually alone. 

‘‘Well, Miles,” commenced Marble, “this v’y’ge will beat any 
other of the v’y’ges, and give i^fifty. We have been twice captured, 
once wrecked, have seen a fight, and are about to feel another. . 
What do you think patriotism and republican vartoo require us to 
do in such a crisis?” 

This was the first time I had ever heard my male mention repub- 
licanism, his habits being certainly as much opposed to liberty as 
those of Xapoleon himself. Although the reader probably will not 
understand the drift of this question, it was not lost on me. 1 an- 
swered, therefore, like one who fully comprehended him. 

• “I am afraid, Moses,” said 1, “ there is very little republicanism 
5a France just now, nor do 1 know that resemblance in governments 
makes nations friends. Unless the resemblance be complete, 1 rather 
think they are more disposed to quarrel about the differences, than ' 
to allow the merits of the points of affinity. As between England 
and France, however, since we are r ^ eace with both, we Ameri- 
cans have nothing to do wu’th their quarrels.” 

“ I thought that would be your idee. Miles, and yet it would be 
awkward to be in the midst of a fight and take no part in it. Fd 
give a hundred dollars to be on board that Frenchman this min- 
ute. ” 

“ Are you so much in love with defeat as to wish to be flogged?” 

“ 1 don’t know how it is, but it goes ag’in the grain to take sides 
wih a John Bull.” 

“There is no necessity tor taking sides with either, though we 
can remember how these people have saved our lives, how kind they 
have been to us, and that we have literally lived three months on 
8 


226 


MILES WALLIXGEOIID. 


their bounty. !Neb, I’m glad to see, makes fair weather of it on the 
bejrth- deck.” 

” Ay, there’s more in that than you dream of, perhaps. Mr. 
Clements, the first lieutenant ot this ship, is a sly one, and he thinks, 
more of a good seaman than some priests dd of piety. If Fm not 
greatly misled, he intends that Neb sha’n’t quit this ship till the 
peace.” 

” How! They surely can not pretend that the black is an .English- 
man?” 

” There are all kinds of Englishmen, black and white, M'^hcn sea- 
men grow scarce. Hows’ever, there is no use in looking out for 
the worst; we shall know all about it when tlie snip gets in. How 
are we to behave. Miles, in this here baltle? It goes ag’in my feelin’s- 
to help an Englishman, and yet an old salt don’t like to keep under 
hatches while powder is burning on deck.” 

“ It would be wrong for either of us to take any part in the ac- 
tion, since we have nothing to do with the quarrel. Still, we may 
appear on deck, unless ordered below, and 1 dare say opportunities 
will ofter to be of use, especially in assisting the hurt. 1 shall go 
on the quarter-deck, but 1 would advise you not to go higher than 
the gun-deck. As for Neb, I shall formally oflter his services in 
helping to carry the wounded down.” 

” I understand ^mu — we shall all three sarve in the humane gang. 
Well, wln n a man has no business with any other, that may be bet- 
ter than none. Your standing idle in a fight must be trying work I”" 

Marble and 1 conversed a little longer on. this subject, whbn a 
gun fired from the upper deck gave us notice that the game was 
about to begin. Each hastened to liis intended post without more 
words. When I reached the quarter-deck, everything denoted tire 
eve ot a combat. The ship w\as untler short canvas, the men were 
at quarters, the guns were cast loose, and were leveled, the tompions 
were all out, shot w’-as distributed about the deck, and here and 
there some old salt of a captain might be seen squinting ahmg his 
gun, as if impatient to begin. A silence like that of a deserted 
- church reigned Ihrouirhout the ship. Had one been on board her 
intended adversary at that same instant, he would have been deaf- 
ened by the clamor, and confused with the hurried and disorderly 
manner in which preparations that Were long before completed oil. 
board the British, w’ere still in progress on board the Frinchman. 
Four years earlier, the same want of preparation had given Nelson 
his great victory at the Nile. The Frencn, in order to clear their 
outer batteries, had lumbered those in-shore, and when half their 
enemies unexpectedly passed inside, they found their ships were not 
prepared to lite— ships that were virtually beaten before they had 
discharged an efl:ective shot. 

” Wallingford,” said my old friend, the captain, as soon as I ap- 
proached him, “you have nothing to do here. It would not be 
proper for you to lake a part in tliis action, and it would be folly to 
expose yourself without an object.” 

“ 1 am quite aware of all this, Caplain Rowley, but 1 iiave 
thought your kindness to me was so great as to permit me to be a 
looker-on. 1 may be ot some service to the wounded, if to nothing 


mLES WArfLINGEORD. 227 

else; and I hope you think me too much of an officer to get in the 
way.” 

“ 1 am not certain, sir, 1 ought to permit anything of the sort,” 
returned the old man, gravely. This fighting is serious business, 
and no one should meddle with it whose duly does not comniand it 
of him. See here, sir,” pointing at the French frigate, which was 
about two cables’ length distant, with her topgallanFsails clewed up 
and the courses in the brails: ” in ten minutes we shall be hard at 
it, and 1 leave it to yourself to say whether prudence doe^ not re- 
quire that you should go below.” 

1 had expected this, and instead of contesting the matter 1 bowed, 
and walked oft the quarter-deck, as if about to comply. ” Out of 
sight, put of mind.” 1 thought; it would be time enough to go 
below when 1 had seen the beginning of the affair. In the waist I 
\passed the marines, drawn up in military array, with their officer 
as attentive to dressing them in line as if the victory depended on 
its accuracy. On the forecastle 1 found Neb, with his hands in his 
poc1<ets, watching the maneuvers of the French as the cat watches 
those of the mouse. The fellow’s eye was alive with interest, and 
Isavv it was useless to think of sending him below. As for the 
officers, they had taken their cue from the captain, and only smiled 
good-naturedly as 1 passed them. The first lieutenant, however, 
was an exception. He never had appeared well disposed toward 
ns, and, 1 make no doubt, had 1 not been so hospitably taken into 
the cabin, we should all have got an earlier taste of his hiimor. 

* There is too much good stuff in that fellow,” he dryly re- 
marked, in passing, pointing toward Neb at the same time, ” for 
him to be doing nothing at a moment like this.” 

” We are neutrals, as respects Fj ance, Mr. Clements,” 1 answered, 

and it would not be right for us to take part in your quarrels. 1 
will not hesitate to say, however, that 1 have received so much kind- 
ness on board the ' Briton,’ that 1 should feel miserable in not being 
permitted to share your danger. Roinething may turn up that will 
enable me to be of assistance— ay, and Neb, too.” 

I’lie man gave me a keen look, and muttered something between 
his .teeth, aud walked aft, whitl^er he was proceeding when we 
met. 1 looked in the direction in which he went, and could see he 
was speaking in a surly way to Captain Kowley. The old gentle- 
man cast a look forward, shook a finger at me, then smiled in his 
benevolent- wav, and turned, as I thought, to look for one of the 
midshipmen who acted as his aids. At that moment the French- 
man went in stays, delivering his whole broadside, from aft for- 
ward, as tlie guns bore. The shot told on the British spars.sinarlly, 
Ihpiigh only two hulk’d her. As a matter of course, this turned 
the thoughts of Captain Rowley to the main business in hand, and 
i was forgotten. As for Neb, he immediately made himself use- 
ful. A shot cut the main-springstay just above his bead, and before 
i bad time to speak, the fellow seized a stopper, and caught one of 
the ends of the stay, applied the stopper, and was hard at work in. 
bringing the rope into its proper place, and in preparing it again to 
bear the strain. The boatswain applauded his adtivit}^, sending two 
or three forecastle-men to help him. From that moment, Neb was 
^ busy as a bee aloft, now appearing through the openings in the 


22S 


MILES WALLIKGEOKD. 


smoke, on this yard-arm, now on that, his face on a broad gria 
whenever business of more importance than common was to be 
done. The “ Briton ” might have had older and more experienced 
seamen at work in her rigging that day, but not one that was more 
active, more ready when told \vhat to do, or more athletic. The 
gaiete de cmir with which this black exerted himself in the midst of 
that scene ot strife, clamor, and bloodshed, has always presented 
itself to,my mind as truly wonderful. 

Captain Rowley did not alter his course, or fire a gun, in answer 
to the salute he received, though the two ships were scarcely a 
cable’s length asunder when the Frenchman began. The “ Briton ” 
stood steadily on, and the two ships passed each other, within pistol- 
shot, a minute or fwo later, wTien we let fly all our larboard guns. 
This was the beginning of the real war, and warm enough it was, 
for half an hour or more bur ship coming round as soon as she had 
fired, when the two frigates closed broadside and broadside, both 
running oft nearly dead before the wind. 1 do not know how it 
liappened, but when the head-yauds were swung, 1 found myself 
pulling at the fore-brace, like a dray horse. The master’s mate, 
• who commanded these braces, thanked me for my assistance, in a 
cheerful voice, saying, “ 'We’ll thrash ’em in an hour,, Captain 
■Wallingford.” This was the first consciousness 1 had that my 
hands had entered into the affair at all! 

i had now an opportunity of ascertaining what a very different 
thing it is to be a spectator in such a scene from being an actor. 
Ashamed of the forgetfulness that had sent me to the brace, I 
walked on the quarter-deck, where blood was already flowing free- 
Everybody, but myself, was at work, for life or death. In 
1803, that mongrel gun, the carronade, had come into general use, 
and those on tiie quarter-deck of the ” Briton ” were beginning to 
fly round and look their owners in the face, when they vomited 
their contents, as they grew warm with the explosion. Captain 
Rowley, Clements, and the master, were all here, the first and last 
^ attending to the trimming of the sails, while the first lieutenant 
looked a little after the battery, and a little at everything else. 
Scarce a minute passed, that shot did not strike somewhere, tliough, 
it was principally aloft; and the wails of the hurt, the revolting 
part of every serious combat, began to mingle in the roar ot the 
Contest. The English, 1 observed, fought sullenly, though they 
fought with all their hearts. Occasionally a cheer would arise in 
some part of the ship; but these, and the cries of the hurt, were 
almost all the sounds that were heard, except those of the conflict, 
with an occasional call, or word of encoqragement from some 
officer. 

” “Warm work, 'Wallingford!” Captain Rowley said, as 1 came 
close upon him in the smoke. "You have no business here, but 1 
like to see the face of a friend, notwithstanding. You have been 
looking about you; how do you think it is going?” 

” This ship will — must beat. Captain Rowley. Her order and 
regularity are most beautiful.” 

“Ay — I’m glad to hear .you say as much, Wallingford, for 1 
know you are a seaman. Just go down on the gun-deck and cast 


MILES WALLIKGEOED. 229 

an eye around you; then come up, and tell me how things look 
there.” 

Here 1 was, fairly enlisted as an aid. Down 1 went, however, 
and such a scene, 1 never had witnessed before, certainly. Althouirh 
the season had well advanced into the autumn, the weather was so 
warm, that half the men had stripped for the toil — and toil it is, to 
work heavy guns, for hours at a time, under the excitement of 
battle; a toil that may not be felt at the time, perhaps, but which 
leaves a weariness like that of disease behind it. Many of the sea- 
men fought in their trousers alone; their long hard cues lying on 
their naked backs, which resembled those of so many athletes, pre- 
pared for the arena. The gun-deck was full of smoke, the priming 
burned in-board producing that effect, though the powder which ex- 
ploded in the guns was sent, with its flames and sulphurous 
wreaths, in long lines from thejiorts toward the enemy. The place 
appeared a sort of pandemonium to me. 1 could perceive men 
moving about in the smoke, rammers and sponges whirling in their 
hands, guns reeling inward, ay, even leaping from the deck, under 
the violence of the recoils, officers signing with their swords to add 
emphasis to their orders, boys running to and fro on their way to 
and from the magazines, shot tossed from hand to hand, and to give 
its fiercest character to all, the dead and dying weltering in their 
blood, amidships. 

Of the maneuvers of this combat, 1 know scarcely anything. 
My attention was drawn in-board; for having nothing to do, 1 could 
not out watch the effect of the enemy’s fire on the ” Briton,” as 
well as the manner in which the English lepaid all they received. 
While standing near the mainmast, in the battery that was not en- 
gaged, Marble made me out in the smoke and came up to speak ta 
me. 

” Them Frenchmen are playing their parts like men,” he said. 
” There’s a shot just gone through the cook’s coppers, and another 
through the boats. By the Lord Harry, if the boys on this deck do 
not bestir themselves we shall get licked. 1 would’nt be licked by a 
Frenchman on any account. Miles. Even little Kitty would point 
her fins:er at me.” 

“ We are only passengers, you know, Moses; and can have little- 
concern with victory, or defeat, so long as the striped and starred 
bunting has nothing to do with the credit of the thing.” 

” 1 am not so sure of that. Miles. 1 do net like being flogged, 
even as a passenger. Tliere! just look at that, now! Two or three 
more such raps, and half our guns will be silenced!” 

Two shots had come in together, as3Iarble thus interrupted him- 
self; one of them knocking away the gide of a port, while the other 
laid four men of its gun on the deck. This gun was on the point 
of being discharged, as the injury was inflicted; but the loss of its 
captain prevented it from being fired. The lieutenant of the 
division caught the match from the fallen seaman, gave it a puff 
with his breath and applied it to the priming. As the gun came 
leaping in, the lieutenant turned his head to see where he could 
best find men to supply the place of those who had been killed or 
wounded. His eyes fell on us. He asked no questions; but merely^ 
looked in our direction. 


230 


MILES WALLlIsGEORD. 


“ Ay, ay, sir,” said Marble, stripping his Jacket and taking 
the tobacco from his mouth. “ lii one moment. Just hold on, till 
I’m ready.” 

1 scarce knew vrhether to remonstrate or not; but hard at it he 
•went; and deliglited by his zeal, the officer clapped him on the back 
leaving him to act as captain of the gun. Afraid the contagion 
might extend to myself, 1 turned, ascended the ladder, and was 
immediately on the quarler-deck again. Here 1 found old Captain^ 
Rowley with his hat off, cheering his men — the Frenchman’s main- 
topmast having just gone over his side. It was not a time to make 
my report, nor was any needed just then; so 1 walked att as far as 
the taffrail, in order to get out of the way, and to make my obser- 
vations as much removed from the smoke as possible. This was 
the only opportunity 1 enjoyed of noting the relative positions, as 
well as conditions, of the two vessels. 

The “ Briton ” had suffered heavily aloft; but all her principal 
spars still stood. Un the other hand, her antagonist had lost both 
main {ind mizzen-topmasts, and her fire had materially slackened 
within the last fifteen minutes. She was falling more under a 
citiarter -raking fire, too, from her people’s losing command of their 
fillip; the two frigates having, some time before, cone by the wind 
— the Englishman a little on the Frenchman’s weather-quarter. 
As is usual, in a heavy cannonade and a moderate breeze, the wind 
had died away, or become neutralized, by the concussions of the 
guns, and neither combatant moved mmdi from the position he oc- 
cupied. Still the “ Briton ” had her yards knowingly braced, while 
those of her enemy were prett}^ much at sixes and sevens. Under 
such circumstances, it was not difficult to predict the result of the 
oijgagement; more especially as the spirits of the Britons seemed to 
be rising with the duration of the combat. 

1 was still making my observations, when 1 heard the crack of a 
shot, and the ripping of plank,. on the forward part of the quarler- 
deck. A little group collected around a fallen man, and 1 thought 
1 cauiiht a glimpse of Captain Rowley’s uniform and epaulets, in 
the sufferer. In an instant 1 was on the spot. Sure enough, there 
was my old friend grievously wounded. Clements was also there. 
Catching my eye, he observed, 

“ As you are doing nothmir, sir, will you assist in carrying Cap- 
tain Rowle}'’ below?” 

t did not like the manner in which this was said, nor the expres- 
sion of the first lieutenant’s eye while saying it. Thev seemed to 
me to add, “ 1 shall now^ command this ship, and we shall see if 
new lords don’t produce new laws.” 1 complied, however, of 
course, and, aided by two of his own servants, 1 got tiie poor old 
man into the gun room. The* instant ihe surgeon cast his eyes on 
•the injuries 1 saw, by* his countenance, there was no hope. His 
words soon confirmed the bad news. 

“.The captain cannot live halt an hour,” this gentleman sard to 
me aside, “and all we can do will be to give him- what he asks fur. 
At present he is stupefied by the shock of the blow, but, m a few 
minutes, he will probably ask for w^ater, or wine and water; I wish, 
air, you would indulge him in bis wishes, for yon can have no duty 
to call you on deck. This will be a lucky hit for Clemcuis, who 


MILES WALLIKGFOKD. 231 

will run off with more than halt the credit of the hat tie, though 1 
fancy the Frenchman has as much as he wants, already.” 

And so it turned out, literally, in the end. About twenty minutes 
after 1 went below, during which time the ” Briton ” did most ot the 
fighting, we heard the cheer ot victory on deck. These sounds ap- 
peared to cause the wounded man to revive. 

” What means that, Wallingtoid?” he asked in a stronger voice 
than 1 could have thought it possible for him to use. ” What do* 
these cheers mean, mv’’ young friend?” 

‘‘They mean. Captain Rowley, that you have conquered — that 
you are master ot the French frigate.” 

“ Master! — am 1 master of my own life? Of what use is victory 
to me, now? I shall die— die soon, Wallingford, and there will be 
an end of it all! My poor wife will call this a melancholy vic- 
tory.” 

Alas! what could 1 say? These words w^ere only too true as re- 
spects himself, and, 1 dare say, as respected his wife also. Die he 
did, and in my presence, and that calmly, with all his senses about 
him; but, 1 could see, he had his doubts whether a little luster like 
that which attended his end, w'as fulfilling all the objects of hi» 
being. The near view . of dealli places a man on a moral eminence^ 
wdieuce he commands prospects before and behind, on each side 
and on every side, enabling him to. overlook the whole scene ot life 
from its commencement to its close, and to form an opinion of his 
own place in a drama that is about to close. Like many of those 
who exhibit themselves for our amusement, and to purchase opr 
applause, he is only too apt to quit the stage 1(»83 satisfied with his 
own pet; for malices than the thoughtless multitude, who, regarding 
merely the surfaces ot things, are too often loudest in thCir appro- 
bation when llieie is the least to praise. 

I shall pass over the ‘next tea days, with a very brief allusion to 
their events. The first proof 1 had of Mr. Clements being command- 
ing officer w^as my being transferred from the cabin to the gun- 
room. It is true, there was no want of space iu my new apartment,, 
tor .otficering and manning the prize had left several state-rooms 
vacant iu the ‘‘ Briton’s ” eun-foom, wdiich fell to the shares of the 
French prisoners and myself. Poor Capiain Rowley was preserved 
in spirits; and then things went on pretty much as before, with the 
exception that our crippled condition and reduced crew rendered us 
no longer anxious to fall in with Frenchmen. 1 may say. iu this 
place, also, that no^v the excitement which liad carried him away 
was gone. Marble w'as profoundly ashamed of the pan he had taken 
in the late affair. He had fought under English colors once more; 
and, though 1 seklom dared to allude to the thing, it is my opinion 
he heartily regretted his conduct to his dying day. As lor Heb, all 
seemed right enough in his eyes; for, though he well understood 
the distinctions between Hags and countries, he always imagined ife 
a duty to stick by the craft in which he happened to be. 

Ten days after 1 had been living under the regime of ” new lords 
and new laws,” we fell in with a frigate, in the chops of tlie Chan- 
nel, and exchanged signals with her. The reader will judge of 
Marble’s and my dissatisfaction wlien we lieard it announced that 
the ship which was then fast approaching us was tiie ‘‘ Speedy.’^ 


232 MILES WALLINGEOED. 

There was no help for it, however; she was already within gunshot, 
and soon rounded to within hail of the “ Briton,” which ship had 
hove-to to wait tor her. In a few minutes Lord Harry Dermond, 
in person, was alongside of us, in a boat, to show his orders to Cap- 
tain Rowley, and report himself, as the junior captain. 1 could not 
quit the quarter-deck, from a desire to ascertain, if possible, what 
had become of Sennit and his companions, though prudence dictated 
concealment. 

Clements met the young nobleman at the gangway, and, apol- 
cgizing; for not going on board, the “ Speedy,” on account of the 
state of his boats, reported the late action and its results. Lord 
Harry then found himself the senior, instead of the junior com- 
mander, and he immediately began to ask questions. He was in 
the midst of these interrogatories wdien his eye suddenly fell on me. 
He and Clements were walking on the quarter-deck together, and 1 
had gone into the gangway, to escape his notice, when this unex- 
pected recognition took place. It occurred as the two were turning 
in their walk, and were so near me that 1 could hear what was said 
between them. 

“ Who have you there, le£ ning against the cutter, Mr. Clements?” 
demanded the captain of the ” Speedy.” ” It’s a face 1 know— some 
old shipmate of mine, 1 fancy,” 

” 1 rather think not, my lord— it’s a Yankee, we picked up at sea 
in a boat, a Captain Wallingford, of the American ship ‘Dawn.’ 
His vessel foundered in a gale, and all hands were lost but this gen- 
tleman, his mate, and a negro, W e have had them on board now 
more than three months,” 

A long, low whistle escaped from Lord Hany Dermond, who im- 
mediately walked up to me, raised his hat, and commenced a very 
disagreeable sort of a dialogue, for saying — 

” Your servant, Mr, Wallingford! We meet under very unusual 
circumstances, and somewhat often. The last time was at a rather 
interesting moment to me, and one in w'hich I was so much engaged 
that 1 had not leisure properly to pay my respects to you, Mr. 
Clements, 1 have a little business to transact with this gentleman 
and must ask the favor of your company and his, tor a few minutes, 
in your cabin.” 

Ko objection could be raised to this request; and 1 followed the 
two officers into the ” Briton’s ” cabin. 


CHAPTEk XXV. 

Oh, I hae scarce to lay me on, 

If kingly fields were ance my ain^ 

Wi’ the moor-cock on the mountain-bree, 

But hardship na’er can daimton me. 

Scottish Song. 

Thebe was an air of cool deliberation about Lord Harry Der- 
mond, which satisfied me 1 should have to pass through a trying 
- ordeal; and I prepared myself for the occasion. Nothing was said, 
until all three of us were in the after-cabin, when Clements and his 
visitor took seats on the sofa, and a molion was made to me to oc- 
cupy a chair. Then Lord Harry Dermond commenced the discourse 
in a manner more serious than ! could have wished. 


MILES ‘ AVALLIXGFOKD. 


23a 


“Mr, 'Wallingford,” he said, “there is little need of prelim- 
inaries between you and me. 1 recollected your ship, when the 
‘ Black Prince ’ and ‘ Speedy ’ were in the act of closing with the 
Frenchmen, three months since; and 1 need scarcely say that the 
manner in which she got back to the place where I then saw her 
requires an explanation" at your hands,” 

“It shall be given-to you, my lord. Believing you had no right 
to send in the ‘ Dawn,’ and knowing that a detention of any length 
would prove my ruin, 1 regained possession of my own by the best 
means that offered.” 

“ This is at least frank, sir. You mean 1o be understood that . 
you rose on my people in the night, murdered them, and that you 
subsequently lost your vessel from a want of force to take care of 
her.” 

“ This is partly true, and partly a mistake. 1 certainly should 
not have lost my ship had 1 been as strong-handed in the gale in 
which she was destroyed, as she was the day she left home; and she 
would have been as strong in that gale, had we never fallen in with 
the ‘ Speedy.’ ” 

“ 'V\^hich is an indirect manner of saying that the wreck was 
owing to us?” 

“ 1 shall very directly say that^l think it was; though by indirect 
means.” 

“ Well, sir, on that point it is not probable we shall ever agree. 
You cannot suppose that the servants of the King of Great Britain 
will submit to your American mode of construing public law ; but 
will easily understand that we leave such matters to our own ad- 
miralty judges. It is a matter of more moment to me, just now, 
to ascertain what has become of the ofEcers and men that were put 
in charge of your Ship. I saw the vessel, some time after 1 put Mr. 
Sennit and his party cm board you, iu your possession; that we 
ascertained by means of our glasses; and you now admit that you 
retook your vessel from these men. What has become of the prize 
crew?” 

1 briefly related the manner in which we had regained the posses- 
sion of the “ Dawn.” The two English officers listened attentively^ 
and 1 could discern a smile of incredulity on the countenance of 
Clements; while the captain of the “ Speedy ” seemed far from 
satisfied — though he was not so much disposed to let his real opinion 
be known. 

“ This is a very well-concocted and well-told tale, my lord,” said 
the first, with a sneer; “ but 1 doubt whether it find many believers 
in the British service.” 

“ The British service, sir,” 1 coolly retorted, “ is, like all others, 
liable to reverses and accidents.” 

“Not exactly of this nature, Mr. Wallingford, you will j^ourself 
admit, on reflection. But 1 beg pardon, my lord; this is your 
affair— not mine; and 1 have been indiscreet in speaking.” 

Lord Harry Derniond looked as if he concurred in this sentiment. 
He had the pride of official rank, and that of private rank, to tho 
usual degree; and did not exactly like the notion that one so much 
his inferior in both should take an affair so peculiarly his own out 
of his hands. He made a cold ackuowledging bow, therefore, in 


234 


MILES WALLIis'GFQRD. 

reply, and paused a moment, like a man wlio reflected, ere he con- 
tinued the discourse. 

“ You must be avvaie, Mr, Wallin^^ford,! it is my duty to inquire 
closely into this matter,” he at length resumed. ” 1 am just out of 
port, where my ship has been lying to refit, several weeks, and it is 
not probable that either of my officers would be in England with- 
out reporting himself, had he reached home.” 

“It is quite probable, my lord, that neither has reached home. I 
saw them picked up, with my owu eyes, and by what appeared to 
me to be an outward-bound "West Indiamau. In that case they 
have, most probably, all been carried to one of the West India 
islands.” 

Here Clements handed Lord Harry. Dermond a paper wdth some- 
thing written on it, in pencil, which the latter read. After running 
his eyes over it the captain nodded his head, and the lieutenant 
quitted the cabin. While he was absent my companion, in a polite 
manner, gave me the particulars of the combat 1 had witnessed, 
going so tar as to direct my attention to a paper he had brought on 
board, to show to Captain Rowley,' and wdiich contained the English 
official account of the whole affair. On glancing at it 1 saw that 
the presence of the “ Dawn,” on that occasion, was mentioned in 
the report; the name of the ship being given, with an allusion that 
was not very clear to the generapl reader, * but which was plain 
enough to me. It was not long, however, before Clements re- 
turned, and, without much ceremony, he informed me that the gun- 
room mess waited my appearance to sit down to dinner. On this 
hint 1 rose and took my leave, though 1 had time to see Marble 
€nter the cabin, and Reb standing by the scuttle-butt, under the 
charge of the sentinel, ere I dipped my head under hatches. 

The dinner lasted near an hour, and Lord Harry Dermond civilly 
waited all that time, before he again summ»ned me to the cabin. I 
was surprised to find Marble in the outer cabin. Neb near the door, 
in waiting, and the two officers with pen, ink, and paper before 
them, where they had been left by me. 

“Mr. Wallingford,” Lord Harry commenced, “1 hold it to be 
no more than fair to let you know that your mate’s account of the 
manner in which the ‘ Speedy's ’ people got out of the ‘ Dawn,’ and 
your own, do not agree in a single particular. Here is his state- 
ment, taken down bv myseif from his own words; if you are dis- 
posed to hear it, 1 will read you what he says.” 

“ 1 do not well see how Mr. Marble can contradict me and tell 
the iruih, my lord— but it were better 1 should hear his statement.” 

“ ‘ 1 was first mate of the “ Dawn,” of New York, Miles Wal- 
lingford master and owner. Captured and ordered in by “ Speedy,’ 
as known. Three days after parting company with the frigate, with 
Mr Sennit as prize master. Captain Wallingford and 1 commenced 
reasoning with that gentleman on the impropriety of sending in a 
neutral and breaking up a promising vo3mge, which so overcame the 
said Lieutenant Sennit, in his mind, that he consented to take the 
Bhip's yawl, with a suitable stock of provisions and water, and give 
us the ship. Accordingly, the boat was lowered, properly stowed, 
the most tender anxiety manifested for the party that was to go in 


MILES WALLINGFOllD. 235 

her, wh^n the English took their leavn.’witli tears in their eyes, and 
hearty good wishes for our safe arrival at Hamburg.’ ” 

“ Am 1 to undeisland you seriously, Lord TTarry Dermond, that 
my mate has actually given you this account of the affair, for fact?” 

“ Most seriously, sir. I believe he even offered to swear to it,. 
thouc;h 1 dispensed wdth that ceremony. Here is the statement of 
the black. Perhaps you would wish to hear that also?” 

“ Any thing, my lord, it is your pleasure to communicate.” 

“ !Nebnchadnezzardawbonny, says, ‘ he belonged to the “Dawn” 
-r-was left in her, when captured by “ Speed}^” and was in her 
when wrecked. Captain Wallingforii ordered Mr. Sennit to quit 
his ship, or he would make him; and Mr. Sennit obeyed Master 
Miles, of course.’ But 1 will read no more of this, as a slave's 
statement can hardly be relied on. Perhaps we ought not to have 
received it, Mr. Clements?” 

“ Your pardon, my lord; it is our duty to protect his Majesty’s 
subjects, in the best mode we can.” 

“ That may be true, sir; but certain greqt principles ought never 
to be overlooked, even when doing our duty. You perceive, Mr. 
Wallingford, that your companions contradict your own account of ’ 
this affair; and the most unpleasant suspicions are awakened. I 
should never iustify myself to my superiors, W’ere 1 to neglect put- 
ting you under arrest, and carrying you all in for trial.” 

“ if my companions have been so ill-judging as to make the state- 
ment you say, 1 can only regret it. 1 have told you the truth; and 
1 can add no more. As for the future, 1 do not suppose any repre- 
sentation of mine will induce you to change your decision.” 

“ You carry it off well, sir; and 1 hope you will maintain the 
same appearance of innocence to the end. The lives of the king’s 
subjects are not to be taken with impunity, nevertheless,” 

“ ]Nor is the property of American citizens, 1 trust, my lord. Had 
I used force to regain my ship, and had 1 thrown the prize crew into 
the sea, i conceive 1 would have been doing no more than was my 
duty.” 

“ This is wmJl, sir; and Ihope, for your sake, that an English jury 
will view the affair in the same light. At present, prepare to go on 
hoard the ‘ Speedy ’—for you must not he separated from the im- 
portant testimony we can find in that ship. As for the citizens you 
mention, they are hound to submit to the decision of the admiralty 
courts, and not take the law into their own hands.” 

“We shall see, my lord. When this case reaches my own coivn- 
try, we shall probably hear more of it.” 

1 uttered this in a sufflcienlly magnificent manner; and, to own 
the truth, 1 felt a little magnificently at the lime. 1 was then young, 
not three-and-twenty; and 1 thought of my country, her independ- 
ence, her justice, her disposition to do right, her determination to 
submit to no wrongs, and her disregard of the expedient when 
principles were concerned— much as young people think of the im- 
maculate qualities of their own parents. According to the decisions 
of judges of this latter class, there would not be a bar, a swindler, a 
cheat, or a mercenary scoundrel living; but the earth would be 
filled with so many suffering saints that are persecuted for their 
virtues. According to the notions of most American citizens of my 


'236 


MILES AYALLIMGFORD. 


age, the yery name they bore ought to be a protection to them in 
any part of the world, under the penalty ot incurriog the republic’s 
just indignation. How tar my anticipations (vere realized, will be 
seen in the sequel; and I beg the American reader, in particular, to 
restrain his natural impatience, until he can learn the facts in the 
regular order of the narrative. 1 can safely ])romise him, that 
should he receive them in the proper spirit, with a desire to ascertain 
the truth only, and not to uphold bloated and untenable theories, he 
will be a wiser, and probably a more modest man, for the instruc- 
tion that is to be thus gleaned from the incidents it will be my pain- 
ful office to record. As for Lord Harry Dermond, the threatened 
indignation of the great American nation gave him veiy little con- 
cern. He probably cared a vast deal more for one frown from the 
admiral who commanded at Plymouth, than for the virtuous resent- 
ment ot the President and Congress of the United States of Amer- 
ica. 1 am writing of the close of the 3 'ear 1803, it will be remem- 
bered; a remote period in the history of the great republic; though 
1 will not take it on myself to say things have materiallj’’ altered ex- 
cept it be in the newspapers, in this particular interest. The order to 
prepare to quit the “ Briton ” was repeated, and I was dismissed to 
the outer cabin, where was Marble, while Mr. Clements attempted 
to shut the door that separated us, though from some cause or other, 
he did not exactly effect his object. In consequence of this neglect, 
I overheard the following dialogue: 

“ 1 hope, my lord,” said Clements, “you will not think of tak- 
ing away the mate and the black. They are both first-rate men, 
and both well affected to his Majesty’s service. The negro was of 
great use aloft during the late action, while the mate fought at a 
gun, like a tiger, for the better part of an hour. We are somewhat 
short of hands, and I have counted on inducing: both of these men 
to enter. There is the prize money for the Frenchman under our 
lee, you know, my lord, and 1 have little doubt of succeeding.” 

“ I’m sorry duty compels me to take all three, Clements, "but I’ll 
bear what you say in mind ; perhaps we can get them to enter on 
board the ‘ Speedy.’ You know it — ” 

Here Mr. Clements discovered that the door was not shut, and he 
closed it tight, preventing my hearing any more. 1 now turned to 
Marble, whose countenance betrayed the self-reproach he endured, 
at ascertaining the injury he had done by his ill-judged artifice. 1 
made no reproaches, however, but squeezed his hand in token of 
mv forgiveness. The poor fellow, 1 plainlv saw, had great difficulty 
in forgiving himself, though he said nothing at the moment. 

The conference between Lord Harry Dermond and Mr. Clements 
lasted half an hour. At the end of that time both appeared in the 
forward cabin, and I saw by the countenance ot the last that he had 
failed in his object. As for us, we were transferred, with the few 
articles we possessed, to the “ Speedy,” on board which ship our ar- 
rival made as much of a sensation as the discipline of a mari-of-war 
would permit. 1 was put in irons the moment we reached the 
quarter-deck, and placed under the charge of a sentinel near rne 
cabin door. Some little attention was paid to my comfort, it is true, 
and a canvas screen was titled for me, behind which 1 ate and slept, 
with some sort of retirement. :My irons were of so large a sort, that 


MILES M'ALLINCtFO'RD. 237 

1 founci means to take them oft and put them on at pleasure, 1 was 
disposed to think th^t the officers were aware of the fact, and that 
the things were used as much for the sake of appearance as for any- 
thing else. Apart from the confinement and the injury done my 
affairs, I had no especial cause of complaint, though this imprison- 
ment lasted until the month of April, 1804, or quite five months. 
During this time the “ Speedy ” arrived as far south as the line, then 
she hovered about the Canaries and the Azores on her way home- 
ward, looking in vain for another Frenchman. 1 was permitted to 
take exercise twice a day, once in the gangway, and once on the 
gun-deck, and my table was actually supplied from the cabin. On 
no head had 1 any other cause to complain than the fact that my 
ship had been wrongfully seized in the first place, and that 1 was 
now suffering imprisonment for a crime — if crime indeed it would 
have been— that 1 certainly had not been obliged to commit. 

During the five months I thus remained a prisoner on the gun- 
deck of the “ Speedy,” 1 never exchanged a syllable with either 
Marble or Neb. 1 saw them both occasionally, employed on duty, 
like the crew, and we often exchanged significant looks, but never 
any words. Occasionally 1 had a visit from an ofiicer— these gen- 
Slemen sitting down and conversing with me on general topics, evi- 
dently to relieve the tedium of my confinement, without making 
any allusion td its cause. 1 can not say that my health suffered ,, a 
circuhistance that was probably owing to the cleanliness of the ship, 
and the admirable manner in which she was ventilated. 

At length we went into port, carrying with us a French ship from 
one of the islands to the eastward of the Cape, as a prize. The 

Speedy ” captured this vessel after a smart chase to the northward 
of the Azores, and Marble and Neb having volunteered to do so, 
were sent on board her, as two of the prize crew. That day 1 got a 
visit from the purser, who was the most attentive of all my acquaint- 
ances, and 1 took the liberty of asking him if it were possible my 
two shipmates had entered into the British service. 

“ Why, not exactly that,” he said, ‘‘ though they seem to like us, 
and we think both will ship rather than lose the prize money tiiey 
might get for their services in the ‘Briton.’ Your old mate is a 
prime fellow, the master tells me; but my lord fancying we might 
meet some French cruiser in the chops of the Channel, thought it 
better to send these two chaps in the prize lest they should take the 
studs and refuse to fight at the pinch. They have done duty, they 
say, to keep themselves in good health; and we humor them, to be 
frank with you, under the notion they may get to like us so well as 
not to wish to quit us. ” 

This gave me an insight into the true state of the case, and I felt 
much easier on the subject. That Marble ever intended to serve 
under the British flag, 1 had not supposed for a moment; but 1 was 
not sure that regret for the blunder he had already made, might not 
lead him into some new mistake of equally serious import, under the 
impression that he was correcting the evil. As for Neb, I knew he 
would never desert me; and 1 had not, from the first, felt any other 
concern on his account than an apprehension his ignorance might 
be imposed on. 

The day we anchored in Plymouth Sound, was thick and driz- 


238 


MILES WALEINGFOKD. 


zling, with a fresh breeze at south-west. The ship came-to just at 
suuTset, her prize bringing up a short distance in-shore of her, as 1 
could see from the port, that formed a sort of window to my little 
canvas state-room. Just as the ship was secured. Lord Harry Der- 
mond passed into his cabin, accompanied by his first lieulenanL 
and 1 overheard him say to the latter — 

“ By the way, Mr. Powlett, this prisoner must be removed to 
some other place in the morning. jNow we are so near the land, it 
is not quite sate to trust him at a port.” 

1 was still musing on the purport of this remark, when 1 heard 
the noise of a boat coming alongside. Putting my liead out of the 
port, 1 could just see thaUlie prize master of the Frencli ship had 
come on board, and that Marble and Neb were two ot the tour men 
who pulled the oars. Marble saw me, and gave a sign of recogni- 
tion, though it was so dark as to render it difficult to distinguish 
objects at a trifling distance. This sign 1 returned in a significant 
manner. It was this answering signal from me that induced my 
mate not to quit the boat, and to keep Neb with. him. The other 
two men were so accustomed to do duty with the Americans, that 
theydid not scruple to run up the frigate’s side, after their officer,, 
eager to get a gossip with their old messmates on the berth-deck. 
Almost at the same instant the officer of the deck called out— 

*' Drop ‘ La Manerve’s ’ boat astern, out ot the way of the captain’s 
gig, which will be hauling up in a minute.” 

This was on the larboard side, it is true, but a smart sea slapping 
against the starboard. Lord Harry was willing to dispense with 
ceremony, in order to escape a wet jacket. ,1 can not tell the process 
of reasoning that induced me to take the step 1 did ; it was, however, 
principally owing to the remarfi 1 had so lately heard, and which 
brought all the danger of my position vividly to my mind. What- 
ever may have been tne moving cause, 1 acted as follows: 

My irons were slipped, and 1 squeezed myself between the gun 
and the side ot the port, where 1 hung by my hands against ihe 
ship’s side. 1 might be seen, or 1 might not, caring little for the 
restilt. 1 was not seen by any bul Marble and Neb, the forrher of 
whom caught me by the legs, as he passed beneath, and, whisper- 
ing to me to lie down in the bottom of the boat, he assisted me into 
the cutter. We actually rubbed against the captain's gisr, as it was 
hauling up to the gangway; but no one suspected what had just 
lakem place. This gig was the only one ot the ” Speedy’s ” boats 
that was tn the water at that hour, it having just been lowered to 
carry the captain ashore. In another minute we had dropped astern. 
Neb holding on by a boat-hook to one ot the rudder-chrins. Here 
we lay, until the gig pulled louni, ciose to us, taking the direction 
toward the usual landing, with tlie captain of the ” Speedy ” in her. 

In two minutes the gig was out of sight, and Marble whispered 
to Neb to let go his hold. This was promptly done, when the boat 
ot the prize began to drift from the ship, swept by a powerlul tide, 
and impelled by a stiff bieeze No one paid any heed to us, every- 
body’s thoughts being occupied with the shore and the arrival at 
such a moment The time was fortunate in anothei particular : Lord 
I lari y Deimond was a vigilant and good officer; but his first lieu- 
tenant was what is called on board ship ” a poor devil;” a phrase 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


239 


that, is sufficientl.y significant; and the moment a vigilant captain’s 
back is turned, there is a certain ease and neglect in a vessel that 
has an indifferent first lieutenant. Everv one feels at liberty to do 
more as he pleases, than has been his, wont; and where there is a 
divided responsibility of this nature, tew perform more duty than 
they can help. When “ the cat is away, the mice come out to 
play.” 

At all everts, our boat continued to drop astern unobserved, until . 
the ship itself became very faintly visible to us. 1 arose as soon as 
we were fifty feet from the rudder, and 1 assubied the direction of 
affairs as soon as on my feet. There w'as a mast and a lug sail 'in 
the boat, and we stepped the former and set the last as soon as far 
enoimh from the ” Speedy ” to De certain we could not be seen. 
Putting the helm up suflSciently to bring the wind on the quarter, I 
then stood directly out to ,seu. All this was accomplished in less 
than five minutes, by means of what the French call a sudden in.- 
spiral ion! 

To be sure, onr situation was sufficient!}’’ awkward, now vv: had 
obtained somelhing that had the semblance of freedom. Neither of 
us had a single shilling of money, or an article of clothing, but 
those we wore. There was not a mouthful of food of any sort in 
the boat, nor a drop of water. The night was low.ering and in- 
tensely dark, and the wind was blowing fresher than was at all de- 
sirable for a boat. Still wr determined to persevere, and 'We ran 
boldly oft the land, trusting our common fate to Providence. 1 
hoped we might fall in with some American, bound in or oi t; should 
that fail us. Prance might bereachfd, if we bad good luck, in the 
course of less than eight-and-forty hours. 

Our situation afforded nothing to occupy the mind but anxiety. 
We could not see a hundred yards, possessed no compass, or any 
Other guide on our way than the direction of the wind, and were 
totally without the means of refreshment or shelter. Still, we 
managed to sleep by turns, each having entire confidence in the skill 
of boUi the others. In this manner we got. through the night, feel- 
ing no apprehensions of being pursued, the darkness affording an 
effectual cover. 

When the light returned, we discovered nothing in pursuit, though 
the weather was too thick to permit of our seeing any great distance 
around the boat. All the morning we continued running to the 
northward and eastward, under our single lug reefed, only keeping 
clear of the seas that chased us by dint of good management. As 
for eating or drinking, the first was out of the question; though we 
began to make some little provision to slake our thirst by exposing 
our handkerchiefs to the drizzle, in order to wring them when they 
should become saturated with water. The coolness of the weather, 
however, and the mist, contributed to prevent our suffering much, 
and 1 do not know that 1 felt any great desire for either food or 
water, until toward the middle of the day. Then we began to con- 
verse together on the subject of dinner, in a jocular way, however, 
rather than with any very great longings on the subject. While 
thus employed. Neb suddenly exclaimed, ” Dere a sail!” 

Sure enough, a ship was meeting us, heading up on the larboard 
tack about west- north-west, u.s she stretched in toward the English 


240 


MILES WALLIKGFOKD. 


coast. I can see that vessel in my mind’s eye even at this distant 
day. She had two reefs in her topsails, with spanker, jib, and both 
courses set, like a craft that carried convenient, rather than urgent 
canvas. Her line of sailing would take her about 'two hundred 
yards to leeward of us, and my first impulse was to lufi:. A second 
glance showed us that she was an English frigate, and we doused 
our lug as soon as possible. Our hearts were in our mouths for the 
* next five minutes. My eye never turned from that frigate as she 
hove by us, now rising on the summit of a sea, pow falling grace- 
fully into the trough, concealing everything but her spars froni 
sight. Glad enough were we when she had got so far ahead as to 
. bring us well on her weather-quaiter, though we did not dare set 
our sail again, until her dark, glistening hull, with its line of frown- 
ing ports, was shut up in the cloud of mist, leaving the spot on the 
ocean where she had last been seen as if she were not. That was 
one of those hair-breadth escapes that often occur to men engaged 
in hazardous undertakings, without any direct agency of their own. 

Our next adventure was of a more pleasing character. A good- 
sized ship was made astern, coming up Channel before the wind, 
and carrying topmast studding-sails. She was an American! On 
this point we were all agreed, and placing ourselves in her track, we 
ran ofl;, on her course, knowing that she must be going ciuite two 
feet to our one. In . twenty minutes she passed close to us, her 
officers and crew mapifesting the greatest curiosity to learn who and 
what we were. So dexterously did Marble manage the boat, that 
we got a rope, and hauled alongside without lessening the ship’s 
way, though she nearly towed us under water in the attempt. The 
moment we could, we leaped on deck, abandoning the boat to its 
fate. 

"VVe had not mistaken the character of the vessel. It was a ship 
from James Eiver, loaded with tobacco, and bound to Amsterdam. 

. Her master heard our story, believed it, and felt for us.^ We only 
remained with him a week, however, qutting his vessel off the 
coast of Holland, to go to Hamburg, where 1 fancied my letters 
would have been sent, and whence 1 knew it would be equally in 
our power to reach home. At Hamburg, 1 was fated to meet with 
disappointment. Ihere w^as not a line for me, and we found our- 
selves without money in a strange place. 1 did not deem it prudent 
to tell our story, but we agreed to ship together in some American, 
and work our way home in the best manner we could. After look- 
ing about us h little necessity compelled us to enter in the first 
vessel that ottered. This was a Philadelphia ship, called the 
“ Schuylkill,” on board which 1 shipped as second mate, while 
Marble and Neb took the berths of foremast Jacks. No one ques- 
tioned us as to the past, and w’e had decided among ourselves, to do 
our duty and keep mum. We used our own names, and that was. 
the extent of our communication on the subject of our true cha,rac- 
ters. 

I found it a little hard to descend so much in the ladder of life, 
but an early and capital training enabled me to act Dicky over 
again, with some credit; and before the ship went to sea, our chief 
mate was discharged for drunkenness, and 1 got a lift. Marble was 
put in my place, and from that time, tor the next five months, 


MILES' WALLINGFORD. 


241 

things went on smoothly enough; 1 say five months, for, instead of 
sailing for home direct, the ship went to Spain, within the Straits, 
for a cargo of barilla, which she took up to London, where she got 
a freight for Philadelphia. We were all a little uneasy at finding 
that our story, with sundry perversions and^ exaggerations, was in 
the English papers; but, by the time we reached England, it was 
for gotten; having been crowded out by the occurrence of new events 
of interest, at a moment when every week was teeming with in- 
cidents that passed into history. 

Nevertheless, I was glad when we left England, and 1 once more 
found myself on the high seas homeward bound. My wages had 
enabled me, as well as Marble and Neb, to get new outfits, suited to 
our present stations, and we sailed for Philadelphia with as good a 
stock of necessaries as usually falls to 1 he lot of men in our respective 
positions. These were all that remained to me of & ship and cargo 
that were worth between eighty and ninety thousand dollars! 

The passage proved to be very long, but we reached the capes of 
the Delaware at last. On the 7th September, 1804, or when I 
wanted a few weeks of being three-and-twenty, I landed on the 
wharves of what was then the largest town in America, a ruined 
and disappointed man. Still 1 kept up my spirits, leaving my com- 
panions in ignorance of the extent of my misfortunes. TVe remained 
a few days to discharge the cargo, when we were all three paid off. 
Neb, who had passed on board the “ Schuylkill ” for a free black, 
brought me his wages, and when we had thrown our joint stock 
into a common bag, it was found to amount to the sum of one Hun- 
dred and thirty- two dollars. With this money, then, we prepared 
to turn our faces' north. Marble anxious to meet his brother and lit- 
tle Kitty, Neb desirous of again seeing Chloe, and 1 to meet my 
principal creditor, John Wallingford, and to gain some tidings of 
Mr. Hardinge end Lucy. 


, CHAPTER XXVI. 

You think I’ll weep. 

No, ril not weep:— 

I have full cause of weeping; hut this heart 
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws, 

Or ere I'll weep. 

Lear. 

I PASS over the manner and time of our being on the road between 
Philadelphia and New York, as things belonging to a former age, 
and to be forgotten. I will merely say that we traveled the South 
Amboy road, and went through a part of the world called Feather- 
bed Lane, that causes my bones to ache, even now, in recollection. 
At South Amboy, we got on board a sloop, or packet, and entered 
the bay of New York by the passage of the Kills, landing near 
Whitehall. We were superintending the placing of our chests on a 
cart, when some one caught my hand, and exclaimed — 

“ God bless me! — Captain Wallingford come to life, as 1 live!’' 

It was old Jared Jones, the man who had been miller at Clawbonny 
from my infancy to the day 1 left home. I had supposed him to 
be at work there still ; but the look he gave me— the tears that 1 could 


M2 ' ' MILES M'ALLi^NGEOillL 

see were forcrn y tneniselves from his. eyes— his whole manner, in- 
<Ieeci— gave me at once to understand that all was not right. My- 
countenance, rather than my tongue, demanded an explan'ation, 
Jared understood me^ and we walked together toward the Battery; 
leaving Marble and Neb to proceed with the luggage to the modest 
lodgings in which we had proposed to hide ourselves until 1 had 
time to look about me — a house frequented by Moses tor many 
years. 

“ You perceive 1 do not return home, JarM, in precisely the con- 
dition in which 1 went abroad. My ship and cargo are both lost, 
and 1 come among you, now, a poor man, 1 fear.’' 

“ We were afraid that something of the sort must have happened, 
or such bad news would never have reached Clawbonny, sir. Some 
of your men got bacii months ago, and they brought the tidings 
that the ‘Dawn’ w'as captivated by the English. From that 
hour, I think, Mr. Ilardinge gave the matter up. The worst news, 
however, for us— that of your death excepted— was that of the 
mortgage on Clawbonny.” 

‘‘The mortganje on Clawbonny! Has anything been done in 
connection with that?” 

” Lord bless youi my dear Mr. Miles, it has been foreclosed, un- 
der the statute L believe they call it; and it was advertised to be 
sold three months. Then, when it was sold, how much do you 
think the place, mill and all, actually brought? Just give a guess. 
Sir.” 

” Brought 1 Clawbonny is then sold, and I am no longer the 
owner of my father’s house!” 

” Sold, sir ; and we have been sent adrift— niggei« and all. They 
said the freedom laws would soon let all the older blacks be their 
own masters; and, as to the young ’uns, why, your creditors might 
sell their times. But Mr. Ilardinge put the poor critturs into 
houses, near the Rectory, and they work about among the neghbors, 
until things are settled. It’s to their credit, Mr. Miles, that not one 
X)f ’ern all thinks of runnin’ away. With the feelin’ that’s up in 
the couulry consarnin’ blacks, and no master to look arter them, 
every one of ’em might be off, without risk.*” 

‘‘ And Chloe, my sister's own girl, what has become of Chloe. 
Jared?*’ 

” Why, I believe Miss Lucy has tuck her. Miss Lucy is dreadful 
rich, as all allow; and, she has put it in her father’s power to take 
care of all the movables. Every huff ” (hoof) ” of living thing that 
was on the place has been put on the Wright farm, in readiness for 
their owner, should he ever come to claim them.” 

” Has Miss Hardinge had the consideration to hire that farnu 
wit^h such an object?” 

” They saj^ she has bought it, out of the saving of her income. 
It seems she is mistress of her income, though under age. And this 
is the use she has made of some of her money.” 

” I had supposed she would have been married by this time. Mr. 
Drewett was thought to be engaged to her when 1 sailed.” 

‘‘Yes; there is much talk about that, through the countfy; but 
they say Miss Lucy will never marry, until she has been of age a 
few weeks, in order that she may do what she pleases with her 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


24a 

iTionejL afore a husband can lay his hand on it. Mr. Rupert is mar- 
ried, 1 s’pose you heard, sir — and li\^iug away like a nabob with his 
bride, in one of the be§t houses in town. Some people say that he 
lias a right in ar part of old Mrs. Bradtort’s estate, which he will get 
as soon as !Miss Lucy comes ot age.” 

1 did not like to pursue this part of the discourse any further, 
thouirh it was balm to my wounds to hear these tidings of Lucy, 
The subject was too sacred, howeverj to be discussed with such 
a commentator, and 1 turned the discourse to Clawbonny, and the 
Teports that might have circulated there concerning myself. Jones 
told me all he knew, which was briefly as follows: 

It seems that the second mate ot tli'e ” Dawn,” and such of her 
crew as had been put in the ” Speedy,” and who hnd not been im- 
pressed either in the frigate itself, or in England after they were 
turned ashore, had found Iheir way home, bringing with them an 
account 'of the captute ot the ship, her extraordinary appearance 
near the four combatants, and their own attempt to escape. This 
last afiair, in particular, had made some noise in the journals— a 
warm discussion having taken place on the subject ot the right of 
Americans to run away with an English man-of-war’s boat, under 
the circumstances in which these poor f#^lIow8 had fourpd’ themselves 
placed. In that day, parties in America took as lively an interest 
in the wars ot Europe, as if the country were a belligerent; and poli- 
ticians, or quad statesmen, were little more than retailers of the 
most ultra-English and ultra-French opinions. It was sufficient for 
the federalists to justify any act, if England did it; while the dem- 
ocrats had almost as strong a disposition to defend all the enormities 
which the policy of Napoleon led him to commit. I say almost — 
for, to deal honestly .with posterity,! do not think the French- 
American party was quite as French as the English-American party 
was English. These last had returned to their provincial independ- 
ence of thought; and, well read in the English version of all politic- 
al and moral truths, and liltle read in those of any other elate of 
society, they believed, as he who worships at a distance from tlie 
shrine, is known implicitly to yield his faith. The English party 
had actually a foundation in deeply-rooted opinion, and colonial 
admiration for the ancient seat of povrer, whereas the French owed 
its existence principally to opposition. The alliance of 1778 had 
some little influence among men old enough to have been active in, 
the events of the Revolution, it is true, but they existed as excep- 
tions even in their own party. It was the English feeling that was 
natural, hearty, dependent, and deep; the other havimr been, as 
has just been staled, rooted as much in opposition, as in any other 
soil. 

The public discussions of the fate of the “Dawn,” as a matter 
of course, had drawn much speculation, among my acquaintances, 
to my own. As month passed after month, and no letters reached 
Ameiica, the opinion became very general that the vessel was lost. 
At length, a ship from Jamaica brought in a blind story of the 
manner in w’hich 1 had retaken my vessel from Sennit; and, it now 
being known that we were only four left in the vessel, the conjecture 
was hazarded that we had been wweeked for want of force to take 
care of the ship; and I was set down as a drowned man. 


S44 


MILES IVALLIXGFORD. 


Shortly after this opinion of my fate became general among my 
acquaintances, John Wallingford had appeared at Clawbonny. He 
made no change, however, spoke kindly to e.very one, told the slaves 
nothing should be altered, and gave them every reason to suppose 
that they would continue under a true Wallingford regime. It was 
generally .understood he was to be ray heir, and no one saw any oc- 
casion tor the acts of violence that succeeded. 

But, two months after John Wallingford’s visit, Mr. Hardinge, 
and all conpected with Clawbonny, had been astounded by the in- 
telligence ot the existence of the mortgage. A foreclosure under 
the statute, or “statue,” as Jared had called it,, was commenced, 
and a few months later the place was publicly sold at Kingston, 
none bidding more than five thousand dollars for it, less than a sixth 
of its worth. This sacrifice of real estate, however, under forced 
sales, was. and is, common enough in America, especially; it being 
generally understood that the creditor is prepared to rise in his bids, ' 
as necessity presents. In my case there was no one to protect my 
rights, Mr. Hardinge having attended the sale prepared to reason 
with my cousin on the propriety and generosity of his course, rather 
than prepared with good current coin to extinguish the claim. John 
Wallingford did not appear, however, and the sale took place with- 
out further competition than one bid of Mr. Hardinge’s; a bid that 
he was- not properly prepared to make, but which he hazarded on 
his knowledge of Lucy’s means and disposition. A man of the 
name of Daggett, a relative of John Wallingford’s, by his mother’s 
side, was the ostensible purchaser, and now professed to be the 
owner of my paternal acres. It was he who had taken possession 
under the purchase, had dismissed the negroes, and sent off the per- 
sonal property; and he it was who had placed new servants on the 
farm and in the mill. To the surprise of everybody, John Walling- 
ford had not appeared in the transaction, though it was understood 
he had a legal right to all my remaining effects, in the event of my 
real death. No will was proved or produced, however, nor was any 
thing heard of, or concerning, my cousin! Mr. Daggett was a close 
and reserved man, and nothing could be learned on the subject from 
him. His right to Clawbonny could not be disputed, and after con- 
sulting counsel in the premises, Mr. Hardinge himself had been 
compelled, reluctantly, to admit it. Such was the substance of what 
1 gleaned from the miller, in a random sort of conversation that 
lasted an hour. Of course, much remained to be explained, but 1 
had learned enough to know that 1 was virtually a beggar as to 
means, whatever I might be in feeling. 

When 1 parted from Jaredl gave him my address, and we were to 
meet again next day. The old man felt an interest in me that was 
soothing to my feelings, and 1 wished to glean all I could from him; 
more especially concerning Lucy and Mr. Hardinge. 1 now fol- 
lowed Marble and Neb to the boarding-house, one" frequented by 
masters and mates of ships, the masters being of the humble class 
to condescend thus to mingle with their subordinates. We consumed 
the rest of the morning in establishing ourselves in our rooms, and in 
putting on our best round-abouts; for 1 was not the owner of a coat 
that had skirts to it, unless, indeed, there might be a few old gar- 
ments of that sort among the effects that had been removed from 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


245 

Clawbonny to the Wright farm. Notwithstanding this defect of my 
wardrobe, 1 would not have the reader suppose I made a mean oV 
disagreeable appearance. On the contrary, standing as I did, six 
feet one, in my shoes, attired in a neat blue round-about of mate’s 
cloth, with a pair of quarter-deck trousers, a clean white shirt, a 
black silk handkerchief, and a vest of a pretty but modest pattern, 
1 was not at all a'fehamed to be seen. 1 had come from England, a 
country in which clothes are both good and cheap, and a trimmer- 
looking tar than 1 then was, seldom showed himself in the lower 
part of the town. 

Marble and 1 had dined, and were preparing to sally forth on a 
walk up Broadway, when 1 saw a meager, care-worn, bilious-look- 
ing sort of person enter the house, and- proceed toward the bar, evi- 
dently with an inquiry concerning some of the inmates. The bar- 
tender at once pointed to me, when the stranger approached, and 
with a species of confidence that seemed to proclaim that he fan- 
cied news to be the great end of life, and that all who were engaged 
in its dissemination w^ere privileged beings, he announced himself 
as Colonel Warbler, the editor of the “ New York Republican Free- 
man,” 1 asked the gentleman into the common sitting-room, when 
the following dialogue took place betw'een us: 

” We have just heard of your arrival. Captain Wallingford,” com- 
menced the colonel, all New York editors of a certain caliber seem- 
ing to be, ex officio, of that blood-and-thunder rank, ” and are im- 
patient to place you, as it might be, rectus in curia before the 
nation. Your case excited a good deal of feeling some months since, 
and the public mind may be said to be prepared to learn the whole 
story; or, in a happy condition to indulge in further excitement. If 
you will have the goodness to furnish me with the outlines, sir,” 
coolly producing pen, ink, and paper without further ceremony, 
and preparing to write, ” 1 promise you that the whole narrative 
shall appear in the ‘ Freeman ’ of to-morrow, related in a manner 
of which you shall have no reason to complain. The caption is 
already written, and if you please, I will read it to you, before we 
go any further.” Then without waiting to ascertain whether I did 
or did not please to hear him, the colonel incontinently commenced 
reading what he called hts caption. 

In the ‘ Schuylkill,’ arrived lately at Philadelphia, came pas- 
senger our esteemed fellow-citizen, Captain Miles Wallingford’” 
— in 1804 everybody had not got to be esquires, even the editors 
not yet assuming that title of gentility, ea? officio. ” ‘ This gentle- 
man’s wrongs have already been laid before our readers. From his 
owm mouth we learn the following outline of the vile and illegal 
manner in which he has been treated by an English man-of-war, 
called the “ Speedy,” commanded by a sprig of nobility yclept 
Lord ’—1 have left a blank for the name—* an account which will 
awaken in the bosom of every true-hearted American sentiments of 
horror and feelings of indignation at this new Instance of British 
faith and British insolence on the high seas. It will be seen by this 
account, that not satisfied with impressing all his crew and in other- 
wise maltreating them, this scion of aristocracy has violated every, 
article of the treaty between the two countries, as respects Captain 
■Wallingford himself, and otherwise trodden on every principle of 


246 


MILKS WALLIXGFORD. 


honor; in a word, set at nauj^bt all the commandments of God. We- 
trust there will be found no man or set of men in the country, to 
defend such outrageous conduct; and that even the minions of Eng- 
land, employed around the federal presses of country, will be 
ready to join with us bn this occasiori in denouncing British aggres- 
sion and British usurpation.! There, sir, 1 trust that is quite to 
your liking.” 

“It is a little ex parte, colonel, as 1 have quite as much com- 
plaint to make of French as of English aggression, having been twice 
captured, or''e b}”^ an English frigate, and again by a French priva- 
teer. I prefer to tell the whole story, if 1 am to tell any of it.” 

“ Certainly, sir; we wish to relate all the enormities of which 
these arrogant English were guilty.” 

“1 believe that, in capturing my ship, the English commander 
did me an act of great injustice, and was the cause of my ruiri— ” 

“ Stop, sir, if you please,” interrupted Colonel AYarbler, writing 
with rapidity and zeal, “ and thus caused the ruin of an industrious 
and honest man; ay, that ends a period beautifully — well, sir, pro- 
ceed.” 

“ But 1 have no personal ill-treatment to complain of; and the 
act ot the French was of precisely the same character, perhaps 
worse, as 1 had got rid of the English piize crew, when the French- 
man captured us in his turn, and prevented our obtaining shelter 
and a new crew in France.” Colonel 'VV arbler listened with cold 
indifference. Not a line would lie write against the French, belong- 
ing to a very extensive school ot disseminators of news, who fancy 
it is a part of their high avocation to tell just as much, or just as 
little, ot any transaction as may happen to suit their own purposes. 
1 pressed the injuries 1 had received from the French on my visitor, 
so much the more warmly on account of the reluctance he mani- 
fested to publish it; but all to no purpose. Nexi moining the 
“ Bepublican Freeman ” contained just such an account of the affair 
as comported with the consistency of that independent and manly 
journal, not a word being said about the French privateer, while 
the account of the proceedings ot the English frigate was embel- 
lished with sundry facts and epithets that must have been obiained 
from Colonel Warbler’s general stock in trade, as they were certain- 
ly not derived from me. 

As soon as 1 got rid of this gentleman, which was not long after 
he discovered my desire to press the delinquency of the Frencn on 
his notice. Marble and 1 ‘left the house on the original design of 
strolling up Broadway, and ot looking at the changes produced by 
time. We had actually got a square, when 1 felt some one touch my 
elbow; turning, I found it was an utter stranger, with a very eager, 
wond'er-mongering sort of a countenance, and who was a good deal 
out of breath with running, 

“ Your pardon, sir; the bar-tender of the house where you lodge, 
tells me you are Captain Wallingford.” 1 bowed an assent, fore- 
Be(!ing another application ioT facts. 

“ Well, sir, 1 hope you’ll excuse the liberty 1 am taking, on ac- 
count of its object, 1 represent the public, which is ever anxious 
to obtain the earliest information on all matters of general concern- 
ment, and I feel emboldened by duty to introduce myself — Colonel 


MILES WALLiJS^GEOiiD. 



Positive, of the* Federal Truth Teller/ a journal that your honored 
father once did us the favor to take. We have this moment heard 
<)f_ the atrocities committed on you, Captain Wallingford, by ‘ a 
brigand of a French piratical, picarooning, plundering vagabond/ ” 
reaciing from what 1 dare say was another caption, prepared for the 
•other side of the question, “ ‘ a fresh instance of Gallic aggression, 
and republican, Jacobinical insolence; atrocities that are of a char- 
acter lo awaken the indignation of every right-thinking American, 
and which can only find abettors among that poition of the corti- 
munity which, possessing nothing, is never slow to sympathize in 
the success of this robber, though it be at the expense of American 
rights, and American prosperity.’ ” 

As soon as Colonel Positive had read this much, he stopped to 
take breath, looking at me, as if expecting some exclamations of 
admiration and delight. 

“ 1 have suffered by means of what 1 conceive to be a perfectly 
unauthorized act of a French privateer. Colonel Positive, ”1 replied; 
““ but this wiong would not have been done me, had 1 not suffered 
grievously by what 1 conceive to be an equally unjustifiable act of 
the English frigate, the ‘ Speedy,’ commanded by Captain Lord 
Harry Dermond, a son of the Irish Marquis of Thole.” 

“ Bless me, sir, this is very extraordinary! An English frigate, 
did you say? It is very unusual for the vessels of that just nation 
ever to be guilty of an aggression, particularly as oiii common lan- 
guage, common descent, Saxon ancestors, and Saxon English, and 
all that sort of thing, you know, operate against it; wnereas, sorry 
1 am to. say, each new arrival brings us some fresh instance of the 
atrocities of the myrmidons of this upstart Emperor of the French, 
a man, sir, whose deeds, sir, have never been paralleled since the 
days of Nero, Caligula, and all the other tyrants of antiquity. If 
you will favor me, Captain Wallingford, with a few of the particu- 
lars of this last atrocity of Bonaparte, 1 promise you it shall be cir- 
culated far and near, and that in a wav to defy the malignant and 
corrupt perversions of any man or set of men.” 

1 had the cruelty to rgfuse compliance. It made no difference, 
however, for next day the “ Federal Truth Teller ” had an account 
of the matter, that was probably as accurate as it 1 had related all 
the events myself, and which was also about as true as most of the 
jeremiads of the journals that are intended for brilliant effect. It 
was read wdth avidity by all the federalists of America, while its 
counterpart in the *“ Republican Freeman,” passed, passii,, 
through all the democratic papers, and was devoured with a similar 
appetite by the whole of that side of the question. This distinction, 

1 afterward ascertained, was made by nearly the whole country. If 
a federalist was my auditor, he would listen all day to that part of 
my story which related t ) the capture by the French privateer, 
while it was tice versd with the democrats. Most of the merchants 
being federalists, and the English having so much more connection 
with my narrative than the French, I soon found 1 was mailing my-- 
self exceedingly unpopular by speaking on the subject at all; nor 
was it long before a story got into circulation, that I was.nothing 
hut a runaway Englisn deserter myself — 1, the fifth Miles of my 
name, a Clawbonnyl As for IMarble, men were ready to swear he 


MILES WALLIN" aPOKD. 


248 

has robbed his captain and had got off fiom an English two-decker 
only four years before. It is unnecessary to tell people of the world 
the manner in which stories to the prejudice of an unpopular man 
are fabricated, and with what industry they are circulated; sol 
shall leave the reader to imagine what would have been our fate, . 
hadwe not possessed the prudence to cease dwelling on our wrongs. 
Instead of thinking of appealing to the authorities of my country 
for redress, 1 felt myself fortunate in having the whole affair for- 
gotten as soon as possible, leaving me some small portion of char- 
acter. 

1 confess, while returning home, I had sometimes fancied I might 
be protected by the country of which I was a native, for which 1 
had fought, and to which 1 paid taxes; but 1 was only tliree-and- 
twenty, and did not then understand the workings of laws, particu- 
larly in a state of society that submits to have its most important in- 
terests under foreign control. Had 1 received a wrong from only a 
Frenchman, or an Englishman, 1 should have fared a little better,, 
in appearance at least, though my money was irretrievably gone; 
tor one political party or the other, as the case might have been, 
would have held me up to ex parte sympathy, so long as it suited 
Its purposes, or until the novelty of some new case offered an in- 
ducement to supplant me. But 1 had been wronged by both 
belligerents, and it was soon agreed, by mutual consent, to drop the 
whole subject. As for redress or compensation, 1 was never fool 
enough to seek it. On the contrary, finding how unpopular it made 
a man among the merchants to prove anything against Great Britain 
just at that moment, 1 w^as wisely silent, thus succeeding in saving 
my character, which would otherwise have followed my property, 
as the shortest method of making a troublesome declaimer hold his 
tongue. * 

Most young persons will doubtless hesitate to believe that such a 
state of things could ever have existed in a nation calling itself in- 
dependent; but, in the first place, it must be remembered, that the 
passions of factions never leave their followers independent of their 
artifices and designs; and, in the next place, all who knew the state 
of, the country in 1804, must admit it was not independent in mind, 
of either England or France. Facts precede thought in everything 
among us; and public opinion was as much in arrears of the cir- 
cumstances of the country, then, as— as — to what shall 1 liken it? — 
why, as it is to-day. 1 know no better or truer parallel. 1 make no 
doubt that the same things would be acted over again, were similar 
wrongs to be committed by the same powerful belligerents. 

Maiblewas ludicrously enraged at these little instances of the 
want of true nationality in his countrymen. He was not a man to 
be bullied into holding his tongue; and, for years afterward, he ex- 
pressed his opinions on the subject of an American’s losing his- 
ship and cargo, as 1 had lost mine, without even a hope of redress,, 
with a freedom that did more credit to his sense of rijrht than to 
his prudence. As for myself, as has just been said, 1 never even 
attempted to procure justice. 1 knew its utter hopelessness; and 
the “ Dawn ” and her cargo went with the hundreds of other shipa 
and cargoes that were sunk in the political void created by the 
declaration of tvar in 1813. 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


249 

This is an unpleasant subject to me, 1 could gladlj” have passed 
it over, for it proves that the political association of this country 
failed in one of the greatest ends of all such associations; but noth- 
ing is ever gained by suppressing truth, on such a matter. Let 
those who read reflect on the past; it may possibly have a tendenc}’’ 
to render the future more secure, giving to the American citizen, in 
reality, some of those rights which it so much accords with our 
habits to boast of his possessing. If concealment did any good, 1 
would gladly be sillent; but diseases in the body politic require a 
hold and manly treatment, even more than those in the physical 
system. 1 remember the tone of the presses of the trading townsof 
this country on the subject of the late French treaty— one ot the 
niost flagitious instances of contempt, added to wrong, of which 
history supplies an instance, and will own 1 do not feel much en- 
couraged to hope for any great improvement. 

After we got rid ot Colonel No. 2, Marble and 1 continued our 
walk. We passed several persons of my acquaintance, but not one 
of them recognized me in my present attire. 1 was not sorry to see 
this, as 1 was wearied of my story, and could gladly remain in a 
species of incognito, for a few days. But New York was compara- 
tively a small town in 1804, anti everybody knew almost every- 
body’s fane who was anybody. There was little real hope, there- 
fore, of my escaping recognition for any great length ot time. 

We strolled up above St. Paul’s, then a high quarter of the town, 
and where a few houses had been ■ erected in what was then a new 
and enlarged style. On the stoop of one of these patrician resi- 
dences— to use a word that has since come much into use — 1 saw a 
fashionably-dressed man, standing, picking his teeth, with the air 
of its master. 1 had nearly passed this person, when an exclamation 
from him, and his calling my mate by name, caused me to stop. It 
was Rupert! 

“Marble, my dear fellow, why, how fare you?’’ said our old 
shipmate, descending the steps, with an indolent, half -cordial, half- 
condescending manner; extending his hand at the same time, which 
Moses received and shook heartily. “The sight of you reminds 
me of old times and salt water.” 

“ Mr. Hardinge,” answered my mate, who knew nothing of Ru- 
pert’s defecis, beyond his want of appetite for the sea, “ I’m hearti- 
ly glad to fall in with you. Do your father and handsome sister 
live here?” 

“ N’ot they, old Moses,” answered Rupert, still without casting 
his eyes on me. “ This is my own house, in which 1 shall be very 
happy to see you, and to make you acquainted with my wife, who 
is also an old acquaintance of yours — Miss Emily Merton that was 
— the daughter of General Merton, of the British army.” 

“ Blast the British army! and blast the British navy tool” cried 
Marble, with more feeling than manners. “ But for the last, our 
old friend Miles, here, would now be a rich man.” 

“Miles!” Rupert repeated, with an astonishment that had more 
nature in it than had been usual with him of late years. “ This is 
true, then, and you have not been lost at sea, Wallingford ?” 

“lam living, as you may see, Mr. Hardinge, and glad of this op- 
portunity to inquire after your father and sister.” 


250 


MILES WALLI'KGFOllD. 

“Both are well, 1 thank you; the old gentleman, in. particular^ 
"wi/ll be delighted to see you. Ee has felt your misfortunes keenly^ 
and did all he could to avert the sad aftair. about Clawbonny. You 
know he could as well raise a million, as raise five or ten thousand 
dollars; and poor Lucy is still a minor, and can only touch her in- 
come, the savings of which were insufficient, just then. We did nil 
we could, 1 can assure you, Wallingford; but! was about commenc- 
ing housekeeping, and was in want of cash at the moment, and 
you know how it is under such circumstances. Poor Clawbonny t 
1 was exceedingly sorry wffien I heard of it; though they say this 
Mr. Daggett, your successor, is going to do wondeis with it — a cap- 
italist, they tell me, and able to carry out all his plans.” 

“ 1 am glad Clawbonny has fallen into good hands, since it has 
passed out of mine. Good-evening, Mr. Hardinge; 1 shall take an 
early opportunity to find your father, and to leain the particulara.”" 

“Yes; he’ll be exceedingly glad to see you, Wallingford; and 
I’m sure it will always afford me pleasure to aid you in any way 1 
can. I fear it must be very low water with you?” 

“If having nothing to meet a balance of some twenty or thirty 
thousarid dollars of unpaid debt is. what you call low water, the 
tide is out of my pocket, certainly. .But I shall not despair ; 1 am 
young, and have a noble, manly profession.” 

“Yes, 1 dare say you’ll do remarkably well, Wallingford,” Ru- 
pert answered, in a patronizing manner. “ Y’'ou were always an 
enterprising fellow; and one need have no great concern for you. 
It would hardly be delicate to ank you to see Mrs. Hastings just as 
you are— not but you appear uncommonly well in your round-about, 
but ] know precisely how it is with young men when there are la- 
dies in the case; and Emily is a little over-refined, perhaps.” 

“Vet, Mrs. Hai’dinge has seen me often in a round-about, and 
passed hours in my company, when 1 have been dressed just as 1 
am at this rnornent.” 

“ Av, at sea* One gels used to everything at sea. Good-even- 
ing; I’ll bear 5-011 in mind, Wallingford, and may do something for 
you. I am intimate with the heads of all the principal mercantile- 
houses, and shall bear you in mind, certainly. Good-evening, Wal- 
lingtord. A woi’d with 5 ’ou, Marble, before we part.” 

1 smiled bitterly, and walked proudly from befoi’e Rupert’s door. 
Little did 1 then know that Lucy was seated within thirty feet of 
me, listening to Andrew Drewett’s conversation and humor. Of the 
mood in which she was listening, 1 shall have occasion to speak 
present l 3 ^ As for Marble, when he overlook me, 1 was informed 
that Rupert had stopped him in order to ascertain our address; a 
piece of condescension for which I had not the grace to be thankfuL 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

The weary sun hath made a golden set, 

And, by the bright track of his fiery car, 

Gives tokens of a goodly day to-morrow. 

Shakespeare. 

I WAS quite as much surprised at my own manner toward Rupert 
as he could be himself. IMo doubt be ascribed it to my fallen fortune, 
for, at the commencement of Ihe'inlerview, he was a good deal con- 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


251 


fused, and his confidence rose in proportion as he fancied mine was 
lessened. The moderation.! manifested, however, was altogether 
owing to Lucy, whose influence on my feelings never ceased. As 
for Marble, he thought all was right, and was yevy decided in his 
approval ot Rupert’s behavior and appearance. 

“ Tisn’t every man that can make a seaman, Miles,” he said, 
” for it’s a gift that comes nat’rally, like singing, or rope dancing. 

1 dare say Rupert will do very wxll ashore, in the gentleman line, 
though he’s great catch afloat, as all will admit who ever sailed 
with him. The lad don't want for stuff, but it’s shore stuff a’ter 
lill; and that will never pass muster in blue water. I dare say, now, 
this Imperor-Giiieral, Bonapaite, would make a bloody poor ship- 
master, if a body was to try him.” 

1 made no answer, and \ve strolled on until darh. Then we re- 
turned to our lodgings, and turned in. Next morning we break- 
fasted with the rest, and 1 was about to set out in search of a law- 
yer, to take his opinion on the Subject of my insurance, though 1 
had little or no hope of recovering anything, when I w^as told lwo 
gentlemen wished to see rne. At first sight, 1 fancied that more 
editors were inquest of news; but we wxn-e no sooner alone To- 
gether, than one of these persons let me into the secret of his errand, 
in a way that whs well eiiough as respects the suaviter in modo, 
while it could not be said to be in the least deficient in the fortiter 
in re. 

” I am sorry to say. Captain Wallingford,” this person com- 
menced, ” that I have a writ to arrest you, lor a sum that will re- 
quire very respectable bail — no less than sixty thousand dollars.” 

” Well done, my upright cousin,” 1 muttered; ” this is losing no 
time, certainly. I owe half that money, 1 admit, sir, if my farm only 
sold for five thousand dollars, as I hear, and 1 suppose X am ar- 
rested for the penalty of my bond. But, at whose suit am 1 thus 
pursued?” 

Here, the second person announced himself as the attorney of the 
plaintiff, excusing his presence on the pretense that he hoped to be / 
of service in amicably arranging the affair. 

My client is ]\lr. Thomas Daggett, of Claw'bonny, Ulster County, 
who hfdds your bonds as the administratoi of the estate of the late 
John Wallingfoid, deceased, a gentleman to whom I believe you' 
were related.” 

‘ "The John Wallingford! Is my cousin then dead?” 

” He departed this life eight months since, dying quite unexpect- , 
edly. Letters of administration have been granted to Mr. Daggett, 
whoijfr'a son of his mother’s sister, and a principal heir, the party 
dying intestate. It is a great pity that the law excludes you from 
the succession, being as you are of the name.” 

” My kinsman gave me reason to think I loas to be his heir, as it 
was understood he was to be mine. My will in his favor was left in 
his hands.” 

” We are aware of that, sir, and your death being supposed for a 
considerable period, it was thought your personals would descend 
to us, in part, by devise, which might have prevented the necessity 
of taking the unpleasant step to which we are now driven. The 
question was, which died first, yon or your cousin, and that fact. 


252 


MILES WALLIInGEOIID. 

you will easily undersfancl, we liad no means of establishing. As ft 

is, the duty of the administrator compels liim to proceed with as 
little delay as possible.” 

“ 1 have no alternative, then, but to go to jail. 1 know not the 
person on earth 1 can or could ask to become my bail for a sum as 
large as even that 1 justly owe, to say nothing of the penalty of the 
bond.” 

” 1 am very sorry to hear this. Captain Wallingford,” Mr. Meek- 
ly, the attorney, very civilly replied. ‘‘We will walk together, 
leaving the officer to follow. Perhaps the matter may be arranged 
amicably.” 

‘‘ With all my heart, sir. But before quitting this house, 1 will 
discharge my bill, and communicate my position to a couple of 
friends, who are waiting in the passage.” 

Neb was one of these friends, for 1 felt I Was fast getting into a 
condition which rendered the friendship of even my slaves of im- 
portance to me. That worthy fellow and Marble joined us on a 
signal from me, when 1 simply let them into the secret of my aflairs. 

” Arrested 1” said Moses, eying the sherift’s offi.cer with sover- 
eign contempt, though he was a sturdy fellow, and one who had 
ever} disposition to do his duty. “Arrested! Why, Miles, you 
can handle both these chaps yourself, and with Neb’s and my as- 
sistance, could work ’em up into spun yarn without a winch!” 

“ That may Jbe true, Moses, but 1 can not handle the law, even 
with your powerful aid; nor should 1 wish to if I could. 1 am 
bound to jail, my friends, .having no bail, so — ” 

“Bail! Why i’ll be your bail; and if you want two, there’s Neb.” 

' “1 fancy the gentleman don’t much understand being taken on 
a writ,” the attorney simpered. 

“ 1 not understand it! That’s a bloody poor guess of your’n, my 
friend. When we had the scrape with tire Hamburghers, in Phila- 
delphy, it’s now coming thirty years — ” 

“ Never mind all that just now, Moses. 1 wish you to pay my 
bill here; give Neb the small bag ot my clothes to bring up to the 
jail, and Keep my other effects under your own care. Of course you 
will come to see me by and by, but 1 now order you not to follow lis.” 

1 then left the house with a rapidity that gave the officer some 
uneasiness, 1 believe. Once in the street, however, my pace became 
more moderate, and dropping alongside ot the attorney we fell into 
discourse on the subject of the arrangement. 

“To be frank with you. Captain Wallingford,” said Meekly, 
“ my client never expects to recover the full amount of his demand; 
it being understood your personals are now limited to certain jewel- 
ry, the stock of your late farm, a few negroes, a sloop, some fur- 
niture, etc. No, sir, we do not expect to obtain the whole ot our 
demand. Certain securities in our hands will extinguish much of 

it, though a large balance will remain?” 

“As Mr. Daggett has already got real estate richly w^orth five- 
and-thirty thousand dollars, and, which brings a clear two thousand 
a year, to say nothing of its advantages as a residence, besides bonds 
and mortgages for twenty-odd thousand more, 1 am fully sensible 
ot his moderation. The forty thousand dollars 1 owed mv cousin 
will be amply repaid to his heirs, though 1 pass my life in jail” 


MILfiS WALLIi^CTFORD. J>53 

“ You misapprehend the aifair entirely. Mr, Daggett does not 
hold Clawbonny as administrator at all, but as a purchaser under a 
mortgage sale. He did not buy it himself, of course, but has re- 
vived a deed from a nephew of his, who was a Iona fide bidder 
The amount bid— five thousand two hundred and fifty dollars— is 
duly indorsed on your bond, and you have credit for it. It no one 
bid higher, the properly had to go.” 

“ Yes, sir; I very well understand how property goes, in the ab- 
sence of the debtor, at forced sales. But what is the nature of the 
proposition you intend to make?” 

“ Mr. Daggett understands you possess some very valuable ptarJs, 
that are supposed to be worth one thousand dollars, with a good 
deal of plate, etc., etc. Now he proposes that you assign to the 
estate he represents all your personals at an appraisal, when he will 
credit you with the amount, and suspend proceedings for the bal- 
ance. In a word, give you time.” 

“ And what idea has Mr. Daggett of the sum 1 should thus re- 
ceive?” 

” He is disposed to be liberal, and thinks you might get credit for 
about four thousand dollars.” 

” My personal property, including the pearls of which you speak, 
quite a thousand dollars’ worth of plate, even at the price of old 
silver, the sloop, the stock, horses, carriages, farming utensils, and 
without counting the slaves, all of whom I intend to set free, if the 
law will allow it, must nearly or quite double that sum, sir. Dn- 
less Mr. Daggett is disposed to raise his views of the value of my 
effects, 1 should prefer to remain in custody, and see what 1 can do 
by private sale. As he will receive every cent of the securities re- 
ceived from my sister’s estate, quite $22,000, and now possesses 
more than $5,000 from Clawbonny, the balance 1 'shall really owe 
can not exceed $13,000.” 

” Yt^ere you to confess judgment, sir, and leave the property 
under execution — ” 

” I’ll do nothing of the sort, Mr. Meekly — on that subject my 
mind is made up. One forced sale is quite enough for a novice.” 
‘‘We shall soon reach the jail, sir — perhaps its sight may — 

‘‘ It will not, sir. Whenever Mr. Daggett shall be disposed to re- 
ceive my property at a just valuation 1 may be ready to arrange the 
matter with him, for 1 have no disposition to deny the debt, or to 
avoid its payment; but, as he has adopted his own mode of pro- 
ceeding, I am ready to abide by it. Good-morning, Mr. Meekly; T 
see no use in your accompanying me any further.” 

1 was thus decided, because 1 saw 1 had to deal with an extor* 
tioner. A rosrue himself, Mr. Daggett was afraid 1 might get rid 
of my personal property before he ^^ould issue an execution by the 
regular mode; and he anticipated frightening or constraining me into 
an arrangement. It would be my business to disappoint him; and 
I assumed an air of confidence that soon shook off my companion. 
A few minutes later the key of the old stone debtor’s jail was turned 
upon me. 1 had a. little money, and reluctant to be shut up with 
the company 1 found in the building, 1 succeeded in procuring a 
small, ill-furnished room, to myself. 

These preliminaries were hardly settled, when Neb was admitted 


^54 


MILES WALLII^GEe^KD. 


with the bag. The poor fellow haa been in tears; for he not only 
felt for me but he felt for the disgrace and misfortune w'hich had 
alighted on the wlmle Clawbouey stock. He had yet to learn that 
the place itself was gone, and 1 shrunk from telling him the fact; 
for, to his simple mind, it w'ould be like forcing body and soul 
asunder. All the negroes considered themselves as a part of Claw- 
bonny, and a separation must have appeared in their eyes like some 
natural convulsion. Neb brought me a letter. It was sealed with 
wax, and bore the impression of the Ilardinge arms. There was 
also an envelope, and the address had been written by Rupert. In 
short, every thing about this letter denoted ease, fashion, taslidiou8- 
ness, and the observance of forms. 1 lost no time in reading the 
contents, which 1 copy, verbatim. 

“ Broadway, "Wednesday morning. 

“ Deak Wallingford, — It has just occurred to me tli.at the in- 
closed maybe of service to you; and 1 reproach myself tor not 
having bethought me of your probable necessities when 1 saw you. 
1 regret it is not in mj* power to ask you to dine with me, en -tamille, 
to-day; but Mrs. Ilardinge has company, and we are engaged out 
evei;y other day this week. 1 shall fall in with you again, some day, 
however, wiien L hope to be less engaged. Lucy has just heard of 
your safety and arrival, and has gone to wwite a note to my father, 
who will be glad to learn that you are still in the land of the living. 
The general, who lives with us, desires to be mentioned, and hopes 
wheu be retilrus to England, it may be as your passenger. Adieu, 
dear Wallingiord; I shall never forget our boyish pranks, which I 
dare say, sometimes cause yon to smile. 

“ Yours, etc., 

“ Rupert Hardinge. ” 

This letter contained a bank note for twenty dollars! Yes, the 
man to whom I had given twenty thousand dollars, sent me, in my 
distress, this generous donation, to relieve my wants. I need hardly 
say ] sent the bank-note back to him by the hands of Neb, on the 
instant, with a cold note of acknowledgment. I had no occasion 
lor his charity, at least. 

I passed a most uncomfortable hour alone, after Neb was gone. 
Tlieii a, turnkey came to inform me that a gentleman and a lady — a 
clergyman, he believed— were in the private parlor, and wdshed to 
s*ee me. It was doubtless Mr. ilardinge — could bis companion be 
Lucy! I was too anxious, too e?>ger to lose any time an^, rushing 
toward the room, was at once admitted. There they were— Lucy 
and her father. Neb had seen Chloe in calling at Rupert's door — 
had heard much and told much. Mr, Ilardinge was on the point 
of going in qtiest of me; but, learning where 1 was, he had barely 
given his daughter time to put on a hat and shawl, and conducting 
lier across the Park, brought her liimsclt to visit me in prison. I 
saw, at a glance, that Lucy .was dreadfully agitated; that she was 
pale, though still handsomer than ever; and that she was Lucy her- 
self, in character,. as in person. 

“Miles, iny dear, dear boy!” cried the good old divine, folding 
me in^bis arms. “ for this mercy, may God alone receive the praisel 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 255 

Everybody gave you up but Lucy and myselt, and we could not, 
would not believe you, loo, were lost to us torever!” 

As iny former guardian still clasped me to bis bosom, as if I still 
remained a child, I could perceive that dear Lucy was weeping, as 
if ready to break her heart. Then she looked up and tried to smile; 
though I could see the efiort was made solely on my account, 1 
caught her extended hand, and kissed it over and over again. The 
dear, dear girl trembled in every fiber of her body. 

“All my misfortunes are forgotten,’’ I cried, “in finding you. 
thus, in -finding you unchanged, in finding you still Lucy Har- 
dinge!’’ 

1 scarce knew what 1 was Uttering, though 1 saw Lucy’s face 
was covered with blushes, and tliat a smile, which I found of in- 
explicable signification, now rose readily enough to her beautiful 
mouth. On the whole, 1 think there must have been some eight or 
ten minutes, during which neither of the three knew particularly 
Vicll what was said or done. Lucy was both smiles and tears; 
though keen anxiety to know what had occurred, and how 1 came 
to be in jail, was strongly expressed in her countenance, as well as 
in some of her words. ' As for myself, 1 was beside myself, and 
acted like a fool. 

After a time we were all seated, when 1 narrated the manner in 
which 1 had lost my ship, and the reason* why Clawbonny had been 
sold, and wh}" 1 supposed 1 was thus .arrested. 

“ 1 am glad my cousin, John Wallingford, had no concern with 
these transactions; tfiougfi-i deeply regret the re^ison why my bond 
has passed into other hands. It would have rendered my misfort- 
unes still harder to be borne, could I suppose that a kinsman had 
laid so deep a plot to ruin me, under the semblance of kindness, 
llis death, however, sets that point at rest.’’ 

“ 1 do not like this talking of making you his heir, and neglect- 
ing to do it,’’ rejoned Mr. Hardinge. “ Men should never promise, 
and forget to redeem their words. It has a suspicious look.’’ 

Lucy had not spoken the whole time 1 was relating my story. 
Her serene ej'e beamed on me in a way to betray the interest she 
felt; hut not a syllable escaped her until her father had made the 
observations just given, 

“It is of no moment, now,’’ she then said, “what may have 
been the motive of Mr. John Wallingford. With Miles, 1 thought 
him a rough, but an honest man; but honest men may be pardoned 
for not foreseeing their own sudden deaths. The question, now, my 
dear father, is, how Miles can be got out of this wretched place, in 
the shoitest possible time.” 

“ Ay, Miles, my dear boy; Heaven forbid you should sleep in 
such a spot. How shall we go to w'orkV” 

“1 am afraid, sir, 1 shall sleep many nights here. The debt 1 
reallvowe is about thirteen thousand dollars; and the writ, 1 be- 
lieve*', is issued for the entire penalty of the bond. As the motive 
for arresting me is, probably, to drive me into a compromise, by 
confessing judgment and giving up my personal property to be 
sacrificed, as Clawbonny has been, it is not provable that bail for a 
jess amount than the law allows the ribiintiff to cjal-.n will be re- 


256 MILES WALLINGFORD. 

reived. T do not know the man who will become surety for me in 
that amount. ” 

“ Well, 1 know two— "Rupert and my?elf.’' 

The idea of receiving such a favor from Rupert was particularly 
unpleasant to me; and 1 saw by the expression of Lucy’s face that 
she entered into my feelings. 

“ 1 am afraid, sir,” 1 said, after thanking' Mr. Hardinge by, a 
warm pressure of the hands, “ that you are not rich enough. The 
deputy sheriff has told me he has instructions to be rigid about the 
bail; and 1 apprehend neither you, nor Rupert, can swear he is 
worth fifty thousand dollars.” 

” Bless me! bless me! Is that really necessary. Miles?” 

It required, 1 beliere the law insiks on security to the amount 
of the judgment claimed. Rupert lives larffely, 1 see, and yet 1 
doubt if he would be willing to swear to that.” 

Mr. Hardinge’s face became very sorrowful; and he paused a 
moment before answering. 

”1 am not in Rupert’s secrets, neither is Lucy,” he then said. 

1 hope all is right; though the , thought that he might possibly 
play has sometimes crossed my anxious mind. He is married to 
Miss Merton; has purchased and furnished a Broadway house, and 
is living at a large rate. When 1 spoke to him on the subject he 
.asked me if 1 thought ‘ ^English ladies of condition gave empty 
hands in marriage?’ 1 don’t know how it is, my dear Miles, but I 
always fancied that the IMeitons had nothiiig but the colonel’s salary 
to live on.” 

” Major Merton,” I answered, laying an emphasis on the brevet 
rank the worthy individual actually possessed, ” Major Merton has 
told me as much as this, himself.” 

Mr. Hardinge actually groaned, and I saw lhat Lucy turned pale 
as death. The former had no knowledge of the true character of 
his son ; but he had all the apprehensions that a father would natu- 
rally. feel under such circumstances. 1 saw the necessity— nay, the 
humanity of relieving both. 

“'You know me too well, my dear guardian— excellent Lucy— to 
think that 1 would deliberately deceive either of you. What I now 
tell you is to prevent Rupert from being too harshly judged. I 
know whence Rupert derived a large sum of money, previously to 
my sailing. It was legally obtained and is, or was, rightfully his. 
1 do not say it was large enough long to maintain him in the style 
in which he lives; but it can so maintain him a few years. You 
need fear neither cards nor positive dishonesty. Rupert has no 
disposition for either; he dislikes the first, and is too prudent for 
the last.” 

“ God be thanked for this!” the divine exclaimed devoutly. 1 
had really frightened myself with my own folly. ISo, so, Master 
Rupert, you have been making money and holding your peace! 
Well, 1 like his modesty; Rupert is clever, Miles, and 1 trust will 
one diy take an honorable station at the bar. His marriage has been 
a little too early tor one of his means, perhaps; but 1 feel encouraged 
now that 1 find he can make money honorably and legally, and 
justly.” 

1 had said nothing of the honorable, or the just; but what weaif 


MILES WALLIKGEOKL. 257 

ness will not parental affection encourage? As lor Luc3^ her coun- 
tenance told me she suspected the truth. Never before h^d 1 seeu 
on those usually placid, ancl always lovely features, an expr'ession 
of so much humiliation. J'or a single instant, it almost amounteil 
to anguish. Recovering her self-possession. However, she was the 
first to turn the discourse to its proper channel. 

“ All this time we are forgetting Miles,” she said. ” It would 
seem, lather, that he thinks neither you, nor Rupert, rich enough 
to be his bail— can 1 be of any use in this way?” 

Lucy spoke firmly,..and in the manner of one who was’ beginning 
to be accustomed to consider herself of some account in the way of 
money; but a bright flush suffused her face, as she thus seemed to 
make herself of moi-e moment than was her wont — to pass out of 
her sex, as it might be. * 

” A thousand thanks, dearest Lucy, for the offer,” 1 said eagerly, 
“but could you become my bail, 1 certainly would not pennit it« 
It is enough that you come to visit me here, without further con- 
m;cting your name with my debts. A minor, however, cannot be- 
come security. 31r. Daggett will keep me here a few weeks; when 
he finds 1 am employing agents to sell my effects, 1 fancy he is 
sufficiently a rogue himself to apprehend the money wull get beyond 
the reach of his execution, and he will offer to compromise. Once 
at large, 1 can always go to sea; it not as master, at least as a 
mate.” 

“ Had we been as proud as yourself. Miles, Clawbonny would 
have been less dear to us. ” 

“ It is not pride, but propriety, Lucy, to present j^ou from doing 
a thing for which there is no necessity, and which might subject 
you to impertinent observations. Ko, I’ll set about disposing of 
my personal property at once; that will soon bring Mr. Daggett to 
some sense of decency.” 

“ If a minor can not be received as bail, there is no more to be 
said,” Lucy answered; “ else would 1 prove to you. Miles, that 1 
can be as obstinate as you are yourself. At all events. I can be a 
purchaser of jewels, if wanting a few months of iny majority; fort- 
unately, I have nearly a year’s income on hand. Aou see. Miles ” 
— Lucy again blushed brightly, though she smiled — “ what an ac- 
countant I am getting to be — but I can commence at once by 
purchasing your pearls. They are already in my possession l^or safe 
keeping, and many is the covetous glance they have received from 
me. I'hose precious pearls! I think you valued them at three 
thousand dollars. Miles,” Lucy continued, “and my father will at 
once pay you that sum on my behalf. Then send for the lawyer of 
your persecutor, for I can call him nothing else, and offer to pay 
that much on his demand, provided he will accept my father as bail, 
if he be the sort of being you fancy him, and so his acts 1 think 
prove him to be, he will be^lad to accept the offer.” 

I was delighted at the readiness of resources this proved in Lucy, 
nor was the project in the least unlikely to succeed. Could 1 get 
four or five thousand dollars together, 1 had no doubt Daggett would 
accept Mr. Hardinge for bail, as it was only as surety for my ap- 
pearance in court. '’That’ was then required, and no one could really 
think 1 would abscond and leave my old guardian in the lurch. 

9 


2d8 


MILES WAt.LIKGEOKD. 


Still, 1 could not think of thus robbing Lucy. Left to her own 
sense of propriety, 1 well knew she would never dream of investing: 
so large a sum as the pearls weze really worth, in ornaments for her 
person, and the pearls were worth but little more than half the sum 
she had named. 

“ This will not do,'’ I answered, expressing my gratitude with 
my eyes, “ and no more need be said about it.^ 1 can not rob you, 
dearest Lucy, because you are so ready to submit to be robb.ed. 
-Leave me here a few days, and Mr. Meeklj'" will come to volunteer 
a plan of setting me free.” 

'”1 have it!” exclaimed Mr. Hardinge, jumping up and seizing 
his hat. ‘‘Lucy, I’il be back in fiiteen minutes; then we’ll bear 
Miles oft in triumph to your own house. Tes, yes, the scheme can 
not fail, with a lawyer of any respectability.” 

” May 1 know what it is, dear papa?” Lucy asked, glancing ex- 
pressively toward me. 

‘‘ Why it’s just this. I’ll go and find the bishop, who’ll do any- 
thing to oblige me, and he and I’ll go, in companj^ to this Mr. 
Meekly’s office, and pledge our words as divines, that Miles shall 
appear in court, as the undei*sheriff told me would be required, 
when ah will be settled- to our heart’s content. On my way to the 
-bishop’s. I’ll just step in at Richard Harrison’s office, and lake his 
opinion in the matter, ” 

. ‘‘ Well, sir, the notion of seeing Richard Harrison is a good one. 
He may suggest something in the way of practice that will be use- 
ful to us. It you could step across the way and get him to pay me 
a short visit, 1 should be infinitely obliged to you. 1 was about to 
take his advice on the subject of my insurance when arrested, and 
1 wish that point disposed of.” 

Mr. Hardinge listened attentively, and then he left the room, 
telling Liicy he would be back in a few minutes. It might have 
been an awkward situation for most young ladies, thus to be'left 
alone with a prisoner in jail; but Lucy was so much accustomed to 
the intimacy that bound us together, 1 do not think its peculiari- 
ties struck her at the moment. When her father went out of the 
room, she w'as in deep thought, nor did she appear to rouse herself 
from it, untiLtie had been gone some little time. Lucy was sealed, 
but I'had risen to see Mr. Hardinge to the door of the room, and 
was, walking slowly back and forth. The dear girl arose, came to 
me, look one of my hands in both her owm, and looked anxiously 
into my face for some little time ere she spoke. 

” Mfles,” she said, ‘‘1 will stay no more of the pearls, no more of 
my own money, and will prevent all allusion to Rupert’s appear iug 
inVour behalf, if you will accept the bail 1 can provide for you. I 
know" a gentleman who will accept my word as his surety, who is 
rich enough to be received, and who is under a deep obligation to 
yon, for 1 have often heard him say as much. You may not know 
how ready he will be to oblige you, but 1 do, and 1 now ask you 
to give me your w^ord you will not refuse his assistance, even though 
he should be an utter stranger to you.” 

‘‘ How is it possible, Lucy, that you can have any knowledge of 
such a person?” 

” 01 you can not imagine what a woman of business 1 am be- 


MILES WxiLLINGFORD. 259 

comiug. You would not refuse me for your bail, were 1 a man, 
and of age, MilesT’ 

“ Certainly not — feeling as 1 do toward you,' Lucy, 1 Would 
sooner receive such a favor from you, than from any human being. 
But you are not a man, thank God, nor of age.” 

” Then promise me the small favor of accepting this service from 
the person 1 shall send to you. It would break all our hearts to 
think you were remaining here in jail, while we are living in iux- 
ury, I will not relinquish your hand, till you give me a piomise.” 

” That look rs snfflcient, Lucy; 1 promise all you can ask.” 

So intense had the feelings of the dear girl become, that she burst 
into tears the moment her mind was relieved, and covered her fa.ce 
with both hands. It was but a passing burst of feeling, and a radi- 
ant smile soon chased every trace of sorrow from her sweqt, sweet 
countenaace. 

“ Now, Miles, 1 am certain we shall soon have? you out of this 
horrid place,” she cried; ” and before the execution they tell us of, 
can issue, as they call it, we shall have time to make some proper 
arrangement for you. 1 shall be of age by that time; and 1 can at 
least become your creditor instead of that odious Mr. Daggett. You 
would not hesitate to owe me money. Miles, in preference to him?” 

” Dearest Lu^y, there is nothing ! would not be willing to owe to 
you, and that in preference to any other living creature, not even 
excepting your reverend and beloved father.” 

Lucy looked deeply gratified; and 1 saw another of those inexpli- 
eable smiles lurking around her lovely mouth, which almost tempt- 
ed me to demand an explanation of its meaning. Ere there was 
time fpr this, however, her countenance became very, very sad, and 
she turned her tearful eyes toward me. 

“ Miles, 1 fear 1 rrfitlerstood your allusion, when you spoke of 
Rupert’s money.” she said. ■ ” 1 feared poor, sainted Grace would 
do this; and 1 knew you would strip yoqrself of every dollar to 
comply with her wishes, 1 wonder the idea never occurred to me 
before; but it is so hard to think ill of a brother! 1 ask no ques- 
tions, for 1 see you are determined not to answer them — perhaps 
have given a pledge to your sister to that effect: but we can not live 
under this disgrace; and the day 1 am twenty-one, this grievous, 
grievous wrong must be repaired. 1 know that Grace’s fortune had 
accumulated to more thau tw'enty thousand dollars; and that is a 
sum sufficient to pay all you owe and to leave you enough to begiu 
the world anew.” 

” Even were whfit you fancy true, do you think 1 would consent 
io rob you. to pay Rupert’s debts?” 

“ Talk not of robbery. 1 could not exist under the degradation 
of thinking any of us had your money, while debt and imprison- 
ment thus hung over you. There is but one thing that can possibly 
prevent my paying you back Grace’s fortune, the day 1 am of age, 
as you will see. Miles. ” 

Again that inexplicable smile passed oVer Lucy’s face, and 1 was 
resolved to ask its meaning, when the approaching footstep of Mr. 
ilardinge prevented it. 

” ]\D. Hariison is not in,” cried the divine, as he entered the 
room; ‘‘ but 1 left a note for him, telling him that his.old acquaint- 


MILES WALLIMGFORD. 


360 

ance, Captain Wallingford, had pressing need of his services. He 
has gone to Greenwich, to his country-place, but he will be hack in. 
the course of the day, and I have desired he will come to Wall 
Street the instant he can. 1 would not blazon your misfortunes, 
i'liles; but the moment he arrives, you shall hear from him. He is 
an old school-fellow of mine, and will be prompt to oblige, me. 
Now, Miss Lucy, 1 am about to release you from prison. 1 saw a- 
certain Mr. Drewett vralking in the direction of Wall Street, and 
had the charity to tell him you would be at home in ten minutes.” 

Lucy arose with an alacrity 1 could hardly forgive. The color 
deepened on her face, and 1 thought she even hurried her father 
awa 3 % in a manner that was scarcely sufficiently, reserved. Ere they 
left the room, however, the dear girl tooK an opportuuity to say, 
in a, low voice, “ Remember, Miles, 1 hold you strictly to your 
promise: in one hour, you shall be free.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

She half inclosed me in her arms, 

She pressed me with a meek embrace; 

And, bending-back her head, looked up 
And gazed upon my face. 

Coleridge. 

I SAV7 no one for the next two hours. A window of the parlor, 
where 1 was permitted to remain, overlooked the soi-disant park— or 
lather Man7iaitan-(!iiamt—?in({ it w^as not long before I caught a 
glimpse of my mate and Neb, lying off and on, or blockadiug the 
jail, lest 1 should be secretly carried to parts unknown, or some, 
other great evil should approach me fiotfi^without. "What these 
two honest and affectionate fellows meant by thus maintaining their 
post, 1 did not know, it is true; but such was my conjecture At 
length Neb disappeared, and was absent an hour. When he re- 
turned, he had a coil of rope over his shoulder, when the two took 
a station at a safe distance from my prison, and began to measure 
off fathoms, to cut, knot and splice. 1 was amused with their dili- 
gence, which made no abatement until it was interrupted by my- 
self. Of the manner in which that was effected I shall have occa- 
sion to speak presently. 

About two hours after 1 was left by Lucy and her father, a keeper 
came to announce another visitor. 1 was expecting my own at- 
torney or Mr. Harrison; but the leader will judge of my surprise 
when Andrew Drewett entered the room. He was accompanied by 
the jailer, who held a letter in his hand, and who astounded me by 
saying — . 

“ Captain Wallingford, I luive instructions here to open the door 
for you— bail has been entered.” 

;The jailer disappeared. 

‘‘ And this I owe to you, Mr. L)rewett!” 

‘‘ I wish 1 could say as much, with all my heart, dear sir,” An- 
drew replied, taking my hand, and giving it a warm, cordial shake; 

but it would not bC strictly true. After saving my life, I should 
not have suffered you to lie ‘in jail for want of so small a favor as 


MILES VVAjLLINGFORD. 261 

.sjivin^ bail for your appearance in court, certainly; but would, and 
will, gladly be your special bail, at the proper time. Let the credit 
fall, however, only where it is due. Miss Hardinge asked me to 
obtain your release, and her wishes are second only to my own 
\ gratitude.” 

This was said in a frank, manly manner; and I wondered I had 
never viewed Andrew Lrewett in a light so favorable before. He 
had improved in person, bore himself like a gentleman 1 now 
thought, and wasevery way a pleasing, well-mannered, well-dressed, 
and intelligent-looking young man. 1 could do all justice to hiu) 
but pardon him Lucy’s preference. 

” Lucy can never forget our childish intimacy,” 1 said, a little 
confused. ” She left me, declaring an intention to do something 
of the sort; though 1 confess 1 was not exactly prepared for this. 
You are a man to be envied, Mr. Drewett, if any man on earth is!” 

Andrew looked embarrassed. He glanced at me, colored, turned 
his look out at the window, then, by a vast eftort, seemed to regain 
his self-command. 

”1 believe 1 understand you, 'Wallingford,” he said. ‘‘You 
mean, in being engaged to Lucy Hardinge?” 

‘‘ 1 can mean nothing else— all 1 hear — all 1 have seen — this last 
act, in particular, tells me as much.” 

‘‘All have then told you wrong, lam not so fortunate as to pos- 
sess the affections of Miss Hardinge; and no man will gain her hand 
who does not first obtain her heart; ay, and her whole heart, too.” 

1 was astounded! What! Lucy not engaged to DrCvvett; not 
loving him, by his own admission; not likely ito love him! 1 believe 
Andrew had no difficulty in comprehending my feelings in part, for 
he seemed disposed to continue the subject; and what was infinitely 
to his credit, to continue it in a waj^ that should leave no unpleasant 
uncertainty hanging about the real position of the dear girl. 

It is only quite lately,” he said, ” that I have seen the great in- 
j'ustice that 1 and my family have unconsciously committed toward 
Miss Hardinge. As you are an old — a mry old friend of hers, 1 will 
be explicit with you, and endeavor, in some small degree, to excuse 
myself; though I feel that it can never be done fully. You tell me, 
that you have heard ! was engaged to Miss Hardinge?” 

‘‘ Unquestionably; I think "it woas the opinion of her own father; 
though he must have believed the promise conditional, as Lucy 
never would marry without his approbation.” 

“Mr. tiardinge has then been strangely misled. It is true, Mr. 
Wallingford, that 1 have long admired Miss Hardinge, and that I 
offered mj^self years ago. 1 was refused from the first. But Lucy 
had the frankness to own that she was free to dispose of her hand; 
and 1 persevered contrary to her advice, her wishes, and I may say, 
her entreaties. I think she esteems me; and I know she has a strong 
regard for my mother, who is almost as fond of her as 1 am myself. 
This esteem and regard 1 hoped might ripen into love, and my pre- 
sumption has brought its own punishment. It is now about six 
months—! remember it was shortly after we heard of your probable 
loss — that ! had a final conversation with her on the subject, when 
1 became convinced my prospects were hopeless. Since that time, 1 
have endeavored to conquer my passion; for love unrequited, 1 


^6^2 'MILES M^ALLIIS'GPORD. 

suppose you know, will not last forever; and 1 have so far succeeded 
as to tell you all this without feeling the pain it would once have 
cost me. Still, 1 retain the deepest respect for Miss Hardinge, and 
a single encouraging look would even now recall me. 1 am of 
opinion, however, she intends never to marry. But, let us quit this 
place, which has no longer any claim on you.’' 

1 was in a state scarcely to know what^ I did. It was compara- 
tively little to me to learn 1 was free myself, after so unexpectedly 
learning that Lucy was also free. Lucy— whom Iliad for years sup- 
posed to be irrevocably engaged, and whom 1 had continued to love, 
even against hope. Andrew Drewett, 1 fancied, had never loved as 
1 did, or he would not have made the speech he did; or his love for 
Lucy had not been a part of his existence from boyhood, as mine 
had certainly been. While all these thoughts were passing through 
my mind, 1 gave a few directions, took Drewett’s arm, and hurried 
out of the- jail. 

I confess that I respired more freely when 1 found myself in the 
open air. My companion took my direction, and 1 led him to the 
spot where Marble and Neb were still at work on their rope. Great 
was their surprise on seeing me at large; and 1 thought the mate 
looked a little disappointed, though^he comprehended the matter at 
once as soon as he saw -Drewett. 

“ It you had only waited till night. Miles,” Marble said, shaking 
his head as one menaces, ” Neb and 1 would have shown that bloody 
jail a seaman’s fashion of quitting it. I’m almost sorry the occa- 
sion is lost, for it would have done their stomachs good to wake up 
at two bells, and find their cage empty. I’ve half a mind to ask you 
to go back, boy!” 

“But I’ve, no mind to comply with the request; so do me the 
favoi to have my bag carried back to our lodgings, where 1 intend 
to swing my hammock again to-night. Mr. Drewett, 1 must hasten 
to thank her to whom 1 owe my freedom. Will you accompany 
me?” 

, Andrew excused himself; and receiving my thanks, once more we 
parted with a hearty shake of the hands. 1 then hastened toward 
Wall Street, and knocked at Lucy’s door (there were knockers to 
good houses in New York in 1804, a vile nuisance, having-been 
since well gotten rid of), scarce conscious of the manner in which 1 
had got there. It was near the dinner-hour, and the footman was 
demurring about admitting a sailor-man, who hardly knew what he 
said, when a little scream from Chloe, who happened to see me, soon 
disposed of my claim for an entrance, 

” Masser Mile!— Masser Milel— I«i>grad— dat feller. Neb, say you • 
come home. Oh! Masser Mile, now 1 know dat de rascal at OlaW- 
bonny get druv’ off!” 

This speech, confident as it was, a little cooled my ardor by re- 
minding me 1 was a beggar, in the figurative meaning of the word, 
Chloe led the way, however, and 1 was soon in the drawing-room, 
and in ‘he presence of the youthful mistress of the house. How 
gloriously beautiful did Lucy then appear! She had dressed for 
dinner, as usual, but it was in the simplest and neatest manner. 
Her face was radiant with the pleasure of seeing me where 1 was, 
and excitement had deepened the color on her cheeks, which were 


MILES WALLIN GEOltD. 263 

never pale, except ■with emotions. As for her eyes, 1 can only cle-, 
scribe them by the homely phrase that they “ danced tor joy. ” ' 

“Now, Miles,” she said, holding out both hands to meet me,, 
“ this- is redeerning your pledge, and behaving as you should. An- 
drew Drewett was delighted wdth an opportunity of doing something 
lor the man who saved his life, and my only fear was of your ob- 
stinacy.” 

“After all 1 have heard from Andrew Drewett, beloved Lucy, 
you never need tear anything from my obstinacy hereafter. He^ 
not only has released my body from prison, but lie has released my 
spirits from the -weight of a mountain, by honestly confessing you 
do not love him.” 

The play of roseate light on an autumnal sky at evening, is not 
more beautiful, than the changing tints that passed over Lucy’s 
beautiful face. She did not speak, at first ; but so intent, so inquir- 
ing was her look, while at the same time it was so timid and modest, 
that 1 scarce needed the question that she finally succeeded in 
asking. 

“ What is it you 'wish to say. Miles?” at length came from her in 
faltering tones. 

“ To ask to be permitted to keep these hands forever. Not one, 
Lucy; one will not satisfy a love like mine, a love that has got to 
be interwoven with my being, from having formed a part of my 
very existence from boyhood; yes, 1 ask for both.” 

“ You have them both, dear, dearMWes, and can keep them as 
long as you please.” 

Even while this was in the course of utterance, the hands were 
‘.snatched from me to be applied to their owner’s face, and the dear 
girl burst into a flood of tears. 1 folded her in my "arms, seated 
myself at her ^ide on a sofa, and am not ashamed to say that we 
■wept together. 1 shall not reveal all that passed during the next 
quarter of an hour, nor am 1 quite certain that ! could, -w^ere 1 io 
make the attempt, but 1 well recollect my arm was around Lucy’s 
slender waist, at the end of that brief period. What was said was 
not very coherent, nor do 1 know that anybody would care to hear, 
or read it. 

“ Why have you so long delayed to tell me this. Miles?” Lucy at 
length inquired, a little reproachfully “ You who have had so 
many opportunities, and might have known how it would have been 
received I How much misery and suffering it would have saved us 
both!” 

“ For that which it has caused you, dearest, 1 shall never forgive 
myself; but as for that 1 have endured, it is only too well merited. 
But 1 thought you loved Drewett; everybody said you were to 
marry him; even your own father believed and told me as much—” 

“ roor, dear papa! He little knew my heart. One thing, how- 
ever, he did, that would have pievented my ever marrying any one. 
Miles, so long as you lived.” 

“ Heaven forever bless him for that, as well as for all his other 
good deeds? What was it, Lucy?” 

“ Wlien we heard of the supposed loss of your ship, he .believed 
it, but 1 did not. Why I did not believe what all around me thought 
■was true, is more than 1 can explain, unless Providence humanely 


264 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 

sustained me by hope. But when my father thought you dead, in 
conversing of all your good qualities, Miles — and he loved you al- 
most as w"ell as his daughter — ” 

“ God bless him, dear old gentleman! but what did he tell you, 
Lucy?” 

“’Lou will never learn, if you thus interrupt me, Miles,” Lucy 
answered, smiling saucily in my face, though sh'e permitted me still 
to hold both her hands, as if 1 had taken possession of them literally 
with an intent to keep them, blushing at the' same time as much 
with happiness, 1 thought, as with the innate modesty of her nature. 
“ Have a little iDatience, and 1 will tell you, When my father 
thought you dead, he told me the manner in which you had con- 
fessed to him the preference you felt for me; and do you, can you 
think, after 1 was thus put in possession of such a secret, 1 could 
listen to Andrew Drewett, or to any one else?” 

1 shall not reveal what followed this speech; but 1 may say that, 
in the course of the next ten minutes, Lucy mildly reproached me 
aghin for having so long delayed my declaration. 

“ 1 know you so well. Miles,” she continued, smiling — as for 
blushing, that, she did nearly the whole of the remainder of the day 
— ” 1 know you so well. Miles, that.l am afraid 1 should have made 
the declaration myself, had you not found your tongue. Silly 
fellow! how could you suppose I would ever love any but you? — see 
here!” 

She drew the locket 1 had given her from her dress, and placed it 
in my hands, still warm from lying near her heart! 1 had no 
choice but to kiss Lucy again, or to idss this locket, and 1 did both, 
by way of leaving no further grounds for self-reproach. 1 say,* 
kiss her again, f or7. to own the truth, 1 had already done so many 
times in that interview. 

At length, Chloe put her head in at the door, haVing taken the 
precaution first to give a gentle tap, to inquire if dinner should be 
served. Lucy dined at four, and it was now drawing toward five. 

• ” Has my father come in?” demanded the young mistress of her 
attendant. , 

“Hot yet. Miss Liicy^ but he nebber t’ink much of dinner. Miss 
Lucy, ma'am; and Masser Mile been so long a sailor, dat 1 t’ink he 
must be hungry*. 1 hear dat‘ he had berry hard time dis v’y’ge. 
Miss Lucy — too hard for old masser and missus’s son!” 

“ Ay, you have seen Heb, if the truth were told. Miss Chloe,” 1 
cried, “ and he has been charming your ear with Othello tales of 
his risks and hardships, to make you love him.” 

1 can not say* that Chloe actually blushed, or, if she did, the 
spectators were none the wiser for the weakness. But dark as was 
the skin, of this honest-hearted girl, she had most affectipnate feel- 
ings, and even her features could betray the emotions she enter- 
tained. 

“ De feller!” she exclaimed. “ What Miss Lucy please order? 
Shall ’e cook dish up?” t 

“ AVe w*ill have dinner,” Lucy answered, with a smile, Chloe’s 
eyes dancing whh a sort of wild delight. “ Tell John to serve it. 
Mr. Hardinge will be home soon, in all probability*. We shall be 
only us three at table.” 


MILES WALLIInGPOED. 


265 

The rnenlioning of the table caused me to cast an eye at my dress, 
and the sight of my mate’s attire, neat, and in truth, becoming, as 
it was, to one who had no reason to be ashamed of his figure, caused 
me to recollect m'y poverty, and to feel one twinge at the distance 
that the world might fancy its own opinions placed between us. 
, As for birth, my own family was too respectable, and my education 
had been too good to leave me now any very keen regrets on such a 
subject in a state of society like ours, but there was truly a wide 
chasm between the heiress of Mrs. liradfort, and a penniless mate of 
a ship. Lucy understood me, and slipping her arm through mine, 
she walked into the library, saying archly, as she drew me gently 
along — 

“ It is a very easy thing, Miles, to get skirts made to your round- 
about.” 

JSo doubt, Lucy; but with whose money? 1 have been in such 
a tumult of happiness, as to have forjrotten that 1 am a beggar; th^t 
1 am not a suitable match for you! Had 1 only Clawbonny 1 should 
feel less humiliated. With Clawbonny 1 could feel myself entitled 
to some portion of the world’s consideration.” 

We were in the library by this timA Lucy looked at me a mo- 
ment, intently, and 1 could see she was pained at my allusion. Tak- 
ing a little key from a cabinet where she kept it, she opened a small 
drawer, and showed me the identical gold- pieces that had once been 
in my possession, and which I had returned to her after my Srst 
voyage to sea. 1 perceived that the pearls she had obtained under 
Grace’s bequest, as well as those which were her own property, if 1 
could be said to own anything, were kept in the same place. Hold- 
ing the gold in the palm of a little hand that was soft as velvet,, and 
* as while as ivory, she said — 

” You once took all 1 had. Miles, and this without pretending to 
more than a brother's love, why should you hesitate to do it again, 
now you say you wish to become my husband?” 

” Precious creature! 1 believe you will cure me of even my silly 
pride.” Then taking up the pearls, I threw them on her neck, 
where they hung in a long chain, rivaling the skin with which they 
caine in contact. ‘‘There, I have said these pearls should be an 
offering to my wife, and 1 now mlike it; though 1 scarce know how 
they are to be kept from the grasp of Daggett.” 

Lucy kissed the pearls — 1 knew she did not do it on account of 
any love for them —and tears came into her eyes. I believe she had 
long waited to receive this gift, in the precise character in which it- 
was now received. 

“ Thank you, dear Miles,” she said. “You see how freely 1 ac- 
cept your gifts, and why should you hesitate to receive mine? • As 
for this Mr. Daggett, it will be easy enough to get rid of his claim. 

1 shall be of age before he can bring his cause to trial, as 1 learn, 
then nothing will be* easier than for Miles Wallingford to pay all 
his debts, for by that time all that is now mine will be youis. , INo, 
no, this Mr. Daggett shall not easily rob me of this precious gift.” 

” Rupert 1 said, by Way of getting her answer. 

” Rupert will not influence my conduct, any further than.l shall 
insist on returning every dollar he has received from you, in the 


2'6G . MILES WALLINGEOKD. 

name of oui sainted Giace. But 1 hear ray'father’s voice, and speak- 
ing to some other person. 1 had hoped we should dine alone!” 

The door of the library opened, and Mr. Hardinge entered, fol- 
lowed by a grave-looking, elderly man, of respectable mien, and a 
manner that denoted one accustomed to deal with matters of 
weight. 1 knew this person at once to be Richard Harrison, then 
one of the most distinguished lawyers of America, and the gentle- 
man to whom I had b^en carried by John Wallins fbrd, when the 
latter pressed me to make my will. Mr. Harrison shook me cordially 
by the hand, after saluting Lucjl whom he knew intimately. 1 saw 
at once that something unusual was working in his mind. This 
highly respectable advocate was a man of method and of great cool- 
/• ness of manner in the management of affairs, and he proceeded to 
business at once, using very little circumlocution. 

“i have been surprised to hear that my worthy client and friend, Mr. 
John Wallingford, is dead,” he observed. ” 1 do not know how his 
decease should have escaped; my notice in the papers, unless it were 
owing to a pretty severe illness 1 suffered myself about the time it 
occurred, "My good friend, Mr. Hardinge, told it to. me, for the 
first time, only half an hour since.” ' 

It is true, sir,” 1 answered. “'1 understand my kinsman died 
eight months since.” 

” And he held your bond lor forty thousand dollars at the time 
he died?” 

” 1 regret to say he did; a bond secured by a mortgage on my 
paternal place, Clawbonny, which has since been sold, by virtue of 
the power contained in the clauses, under the statute, and sold for a 
song; less than a fourth of its value.” 

And you have been arrested, at the suit of tire administrator, . 
for the balance due on the bond?” 

” 1 have, sir; and am liberated on general bail, only within an 
hour or two.” 

“ Well, sir, all these proceedings can and must be set aside. 1 have 
already given instructions to prepare an application to the chancel- 
lor for an injunction, and, unless your kinsman’s administrator is 
a great dunce, you will be in peaceable possession of Clawbonny, 
again, in less than a month— if ^ moderately sensible man, in less 
tlian twenty-four hours.” 

' ” You would not raise hopes that are idle, Mr. Harrison; yet 1 do 

not understand how all this well can be!” 

‘‘Your kinsman, Mr. John Walingtord, who was a much 
esteemed client of mine, made a will, whicli will 1 drew myself, and 
which will, being left in my possession for that purpose, 1 n'ow put 
in your hands as his sole executor. By that will, you will perceive 
that he especially forgives you the debt of forty thousand dollars, 
and releases the claim under the mortgage. But this is not all, 
After giving some small legacies to a fevf of his female relatives, he 
has left you the residuary legatee, and 1 know enough of his affairs 
to be certain that you will receive an addition to your estate of more 
than two hundred thousand dollars. John Wallingford was a char- 
acter, but he was a money-making character; had he lived twenty 
years longer, he Yvould have been one of the richest men in the 


MILES WA'LLliJGEOKD.' 267 

State. He had laid an excellent foundation, but he died too soon to 
rear the golden structure.” 

What a change of circumstances^was here! . I was not only virtu- 
ally released from debt, but had Claw bonny restored to me, and 
was master of all 1 had ever owned, my earnings and the money in- 
vested in the ” Davyu ” excepted. This last was irretrievably gone. 
It was true, but in its place I had the ample legacy of John VVailing- 
ford as a compensation. This legacy consisted of a large sum in the 
three per cents., which then sold at about sixty, but were subse- 
quently paid off at par, of good bank and insurance stocks, bonds 
"®nd mortgages, and a valuable and productive real property in the 
western part of the State, .with several buildings In town. Jn a 
word, I Was even richer than Lucy, and no longer need consider 
mj'self as one living on her generosity. It is not difficult to be- 
lieve 1 wuis made supremely happy by this news, and 1 looked to 
Lucy for sympathy. As for the dear girl herself, I do believe she 
felt anything but pleasure at this new accession of riches; tor she 
had a deep satisfaction in thinking that it was in her power to prove 
to me how completely 1 possessed her confidence, by placing all she 
had in my hands. Nevertheless she loved Clawbonny as well as 1 
did myself,. and my restoration to the throne of my father was a- 
subject of mutual delight. 

Mr. Harrison went on to say that he had ascertained Daggett was 
in town to conduct the expected arrangement with me, on the sub- 
ject of my personals, and that he had already sent a messenger to 
his attorney, to let the existence of the will be known. He had, 
consequently, strong hopes of arranging matters in the course ol 
the next twenty-four hours. We were still at table, fh effect, when 
the messenger came to let us know an interview was appointed at the 
office of this eminent counsel, and we all adjourned to that place, Lucy 
excepted, as soon as the cloth was removed, for in that day cloths were 
always removed. At the office we found Mr. Daggett, whoml now' 
saw for the first time, and his legal adviser, already W'aiting for us. 
One glance sufficed to let us into the secret of the consternation both 
were in, for the lawyer had committed himself in the course of the 
proceedings he had had an agency in conducting, glmost as much as 
his client. 

” This is strange news to us, Mr. Harrison,” the attorney com- 
menced; “though your character and reputation, 1 will confess, 
make it look serious. Is there no mistake in the matter, sir?” 

“None whatever, Mr. Meekly. If you will have the goodness 
to read this will, sir, you will perceive that the facts have been 
truly laid before your client; and, as to the authenticity of the 
document, I can only say, it was not on^y drawn up by myself, 
under precise instructions from Mr. Wallingford, which instructions 
1 still possess, in his own handwriting, but the will was copied by 
my client, as well as signed and sealed in my presence, as one of the 
witnesses. So far as relates to the personals, this will would be 
valid, though not signed by the testator, supposing no other will to 
exist. But, I flatter myself, you will find eyerything correct as to 
forms.” 

Mr. Meekly read the will aloud, from beginning to end, and, in 


/ 


268 


MILES WALLlIv^GFOED. 


returning it to me, he cast a very give-it-iip-sort of look at Daggett. 
The latter inquired, with some anxiety, , ' 

Is there any schedule of the property accompanying the will?’' 

“There is, sir,” returned Mr. Harrison; “and directions on it 
where to find the certificates of stock, and all the other evidences of 
debts — such as bonds and mortgages Of the last, several are in my 
own possession. I presume the bond of this Mr. Wallingford was 
kept by the testator himself, as a sort of a family thing.” 

“ Well, sir, you will find that none of the stocK has been touched: 
and L confess this bond, with a few notes given in Genessee, is all 
that 1 have been able to find. We have been surprised at discover- 
ing the assets to be so small.” 

“ So much the better for you, Mr. Daggett. Knowing what 1 do, 

I shall only give up the assets 1 hold to the executor and heir. Tour 
letter s of administration will be set aside, as a matter of course, even 
should you presume to oppose us, which 1 should hardly think ad- 
visable.” 

“ W^e shall not attempt it, Mr. Harrison,” Meekly said, hastily; 
“ and we expect equal liberality from your client.” 

So much for having a first-rate law-yer and a man of character on 
my ^ide. Daggett gave the whole thing up, on the spot — reconvey- 
ing to me Clawbouny before he quitted, though the sale would un- 
questionably be set aside, and subsequently was set aside, by means 
of an amicable suit. A great deal remained to be done, however : 
and 1 was obliged to tear myself away from Lucy in order to do it. 
Probate of the will was to be made in the distant county of Genessee 
— and distant it was from New York in 1804! The journey that 
could be made, to-day, in about thirty hours, took me ten days; and 
1 spent near a month in going through the necessary forms, and in 
otherwise settling myaflairs at the west, as that part of the State w'^as 
then called. The time, however, was not wasted below. Mr. Har- 
dinge took charge of everything at Clawbonny, and Lucy’s welcome 
letters— -three of which reached me weekly — informed me that every- 
thing was re-established in the house, on the farm, and at the mill. 
The Wallingford was set running again, and all the oxen, cows, 
horses, hogs, etc., etc., were living in their old haunts. The negroes' 
were reinstated, and Clawbonny was itself again! The only changes 
made were for the better; the occasion having been improved, to 
paint and new- vamp the house, which Mr. Daggett’s parsimony had 
prevented him from defacing by modern alterations. In a word 
“ Masser Mile ” was alone wanting to make all at the farm happy. 
Chloe had communicated her engagement to “ Miss Lucy,^ and it 
was understood Neb and his piaster were to be married about the 
same time. As for Moses, he had gone up to Willow Cove, on a 
leave of absence. A letter received from him, which now lies be- 
fore me, will give a better account of his proceedings and .feelings 
than I can write myself. It was in the following words, viz: 

“Willow Cove, September 18th, 1804. 

” Captain Wallingford, -«-Dear sir, and my dear Miles— Here 
1 have’ been, moored head and starn, these ten days, as comfortable 
as heart could wish, in the bosom of my family. The old woman 
was right down glad to see me, and she cried like an alligator, when 


'MILES WALLINGFORD. ' 269 

'She heard my gtory. As for she cried, and she laughed in 

the bargain; but that J^oung Bright, whom you may remember we 
fell in with, in our cruise after old Van Tassel, has fairly hauled 
alongside of my niece, and she does little but laugh from morning 
to night. It’s bloody hard to lose a niece in Ibis way, just as a 
man finds her, but mother says 1 shall gain a nephew by the trade. 

“ Now, for old Van Tassel. The Lord will never suffer rogues to 
prosper in the long run. Mother found the old rascal’s receipt, giv- 
en to my lather for the money, years and years ago, aud sending for 
a Hudson lawyer, they made the rriiserly cheat oft with his hatches, 
and hoist out cargo enough to square the yards. So mother consid- 
ers the thing as settled at last; but 1 shall always regard the account 
as open until 1 have thrashed the gentleman to my heart’s content. 
The old woman got the cash in hard dollars, not understaiading 
paper, and 1 wasn’t in the house ten minutes, before the good old soul 
roused a stocking out of a drawer, and began to count out the pieces 
to pay me oft. So you see, Miles, I’ve stepped into my estate again, 
as well as jmurself. As for your ofter to pay me wages for the whole 
of last v’y’ge ” — this word Marble could only spell as he pronounced 
it — “ it’s generous, and that’s a good deal in these bloody dishonest 
times, but I’ll not touch a copper. When a ship’s lost, the wages 
are lost with her, and that’s law and reason. It would be hard on 
a merchant to have to pay wages for work done on board a craft that’s 
at the bottom of the ocean; so on more on that p’int, which we’ll 
consider settled. 

“ 1 am delighted to learn you are to be married as soon as you get 
back to Clawbonny. Was 1 in your place, and saw such a nice 
young woman beckoning me into port. I’d not be long in the ofhng. 
Thank you, heartily, for the invitation to be one of the bridemaids, 
which is an office, dear Miles, 1 covet, and shall glory in. ' 1 wish 
3’-ou to drop me a line as to the rigging proper for the occasion, for 
1 would wish to be dressed as much like the rest of the bridemaids 
as possible; uniformity being always desirable in such matters. A 
wedding is a wedding, and should be dealt with as a wedding; so, 
waiting for further orders, 1 remain your friend and old shipmate 
to command, Moses Van Duzer Marble.” 

1 do not affirm that .the spelling of this letter was quite as accu- 
rate as that given in this copy, but the epistle was legible, and evi- 
dently gave Marble a great deal of trouble. As tor the letters of 
dear Lucy, 1 forbear to copy any. They were like herself, how- 
ever; ingenuous, truthful, affectionate, and feminine. Among 
other things, she informed me that our union was to take place in 
St. Michael’s; that 1 was to meet her at the Rectory, and that we 
might proceed -to Clawbonny from the church door. She had in- 
vited Rupert and Emily to be present, but the health of the last 
would prevent their accepting the invitation. Major, or General 
Merton, as he was universally called in New York, had the gout, 
and could not be there; and 1 was asked if it would not be advisable, 
under all circumstances, to ha^e the affair as private as possible. 

.My answer conveyed a cheerful cora]^liance, and a week after that 
was dispatched, 1 left the Genessee country, having successfully 
completed all my business. No one opposed me, and so far from 


270 MJL51S WALLINGFORD. 

being regarded as an intruder, the world thought me the proper heir 
of my cousin. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

I calmed her fears, and she was calm, 

And told her love with virgin pride; 

And so I won my Genevieve, 

My bright and beauteous bride. 

Coleridge. • 

By arrangement, 1 stopped at the Willow Cove, to pick up 
Marble. I tound the honest fellow happy as the day was long; but 
telling fearfully long and wonderful yarns of his adventures to the 
whole country round. My old mate was substantially a man of 
truth; but he did love to astonish “know-nothings.” He appears 
to have succeeded surprisingly well, for the Dutchmen of that 
neighborhood still recount anecdotes of the achievements and sufler- 
ings of Captain Marvel, as they usually call him, though they have 
long ceased to think the country belongs to the United Provinces. 

Moses. was glad to see me ; and 'after passing a night in the cot- 
tage of his mother, we proceeded toward Ciawbonny, in a convey- 
ance that had been sent to Willow Cove to meet me. It was a car- 
riage of my own, one of my own negroes acting as driver. 1 knew 
the old team, and will acknowledge that tears forced themselves to 
my eyes as I thus saw myself, as it might be, reinstated in mj'^ own. 
The same feeling came powerfully over me as we drove to the sum- 
mit of an elevation in the road that commanded a view of the vale 
and buildings of Ciawbonny. What a moment was that in my ex- 
istence! 1 can not say that 1 was born to Wealth, even as wealth 
was counted among us sixty years since, but 1 was born to a com- 
petency. Until 1 lost my ship, 1 had never known the humiliating 
sensations of poverty; and the feeling that passed over my heart 
when 1 first heard that Ciawbonny was sold, has left an impression 
that will last for life. 1 looked at the houses, as 1 passed them in 
the streets,. and remembered that 1 was houseless. 1 did not pass a 
shop in which clothes were not exposed, without remembering that, 
were iny debts paid, 1 should literally be without a coat to my back. 
Now, 1 had my own once more; and there stood the home of my 
ancestors for generations, looking comfortable and respectable, in 
the midst of a most inviting scene of rural quiet and loveliness. 
The very fields seemed to welcome me beneath its roof! There is 
no use in attempting to conceal what happened ; and 1 will honestly 
relate it. 

The road made a considerable circuit to descend the hill, while a 
footpath led down the declivity, by a shorter cut, which was always 
. taken by pedestrians. Making an incoherent excuse to Moses, and 
telling him to wait for me at the foot of the hill, 1 sprung out of the 
carriage, leaped a fence, andl may add, leaped out of sight, in order 
to conceal my emotion. I was no sooner lost to view, than, seating 
myself on a fragment of rock, 1 wept like a child. How long 1 sat 
there is more than 1 can say; but the manner in which 1 was re- 
called from this paroxysm of feeling will not soon be forgotten. A 
little hand was laid on my forehead, and a* soft voice uttered the 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 271 

word Miles ” so near me, that, at the next instant, 1 hehL Lnc}' in 
my arms. ^ The dear girl had walked to the hill, as she afterward 
admitted, in the expectation of seeing me pass on to Clawlionny 
and comprehending my feelings and my behavior, could not deny 
herself the exquisite gratification of sharing my emotions. 

“ It is a blessed restoration to your rights, dear Miles,” Lucy at 
length said, smiling through lier tears. ” Your letters have told me 
that you are rich; but 1 would rather you had Clawboony, and not a- 
cent besides, than, without this place, you had the riches of the 
wealthiest man in the country. YoUrs ‘it should have been, at all 
events, could my means have compassed it.” 

” And this, ^ucy, without my becoming your husband, do you 
mean?” 

Lucy blushed brightly; though 1 can not say the sincere, in- 
genuous girl ever looked embarrassed in avowing her pref.erence for 
me. After a moment’s pause, she smiled, and answered my ques-" 
tiou. 

” 1 have not doubted of the result, since my father gave me an 
account of your feelings toward me,” she said, ‘‘and that, you 
will remember, ^as before Mr. Daggett had his sale. W omen have 
more confidence in the affections than men, 1 fear; at least, with us 
they are more engrossing concerns than wilh you, for we live for 
them altogether, whereas you have the world constantly to occupy 
your thoughts. 1 have never supposed Miles Walling‘ford would 
become the husband of any but Lucy Hardinge, except on one oc- 
casion, and then only for a very short period; and ever sipce I have 
thought on such subjects at all, i have hnoicn that Lucy Hardinge 
would liever—cow^cZ never be the wife of any one but Miles Walling- 
ford.” 

‘‘And that one exception, dearest — that ‘very short period'? 
Having confessed so much, I am eager to know all.” 

Lucy became thoughtful, and she moved the grass at her feet 
with tire end of her parasol, ere she replied, 

“ The one exception was Emily Merton; and the short period ter- 
minated wheri I saw jmu together, in your own house. When I 
first saw' Emily Merton I thought her more worthy of your love than 
1 could possibly be; and 1 fancied it irqpossible that you could have 
lived so long in a ship together, witfiout discovering each other’s 
merits. But, when 1 was placed with you both, under the same 
roof. 1 soon ascertained that, while your imagination had been a , 
little led aside, your heart was always true to me.” 

“ Is this possible, Lucy? Are women really so much more dis- 
criminating, so much more accurate in their opinions, than 'us men? 
While 1 was ready to hang myself for jealousy of Andrew Drewett, 
did you really know that my heart was entirely yours?” 

“1 was not without misgivings. Miles, and sometimes those that 
were keenly painful; but, on the whole, 1 will not^ say 1 felt my 
power, but that 1 felt we were dear to each other.” 

“ Did you never suppose, as your excellent father has done, that 
we were too much like brother and sister to become lovers, too much 
accustomed to be dear to each other as children to submit to pas- 
sion? For that which 1 feel for you, Lucy, I do not pretend to 


272 


MILES AVALLIKGFOED. 


dignify jvith the name of esteem, and respect, and affection — it is'a 
passion, that, will form the misery or happiness of my life.’’ 

Lucy smiled archly, and again the end of her parasol played with 
the grass that grew around the rock on which we were seated. 

“How could 1 think this tor you,” she said, “ when I had a con- 
trary experience of my own constantly present. Miles? 1 eaw that 
you thought there was some difference of condition between ua 
(silly fellow!) and 1 felt persuaded you had only your own diffi- 
dence to overcome, to tell your own story.” 

“ And knowing and seeing all this, cruel Lucy, wffiy did you 
suffer years of cruel doubt to hang over me?” 

“Was it a woman’s part to speak, Miles? I erjdeavored to act 
naturally— believe 1 did act naturally— and 1 left the rest to God. 
Blessed be his mercy, I am rewarded.” 

1 folded Lucy to my heart, and, passing a moment of sweet sym- 
pathy in the embrace, we both began to talk of other things, as if 
mutually conscious that our feelings were too high- wrought for the 
place in which we were. I inquired as to the condition of things at 
Clawbonny, and was gratified with'tlie report. Everybody expected 
me. 1 had no tenantry to come forth to meet me.— nor were Amer- 
ican tenants much addicted to such practices, even when they were 
to be found, though the miserable sophistry on the subject of land- 
lord und tenant — one of the most useful and humanizing relations of 
civilized life — did not then exist among us, that I am sorry to find 
is now getting into vogue. In that day, it was not thought “lib- 
erty ” to violate the fair covenants of a lease; and attempts to cheat 
a landed proprietor out of his rights called cheating, as they 
ought to be — and they were called nothing else. 

In that day, a lease in perpetuity was thought a more advantag- 
eous bargain for the tenant, than a lease for a year, or a term of 
years ; and men did not begin to reason as if one indulgence gave 
birth to a right to demand more. In that day, paj.ying rent in chick- 
ens, and wood, and work was not fancied to be a remnant of feud- 
ality, but it was regarded as a favor conferred on him who had the 
privilege; and even now, nine countrymen in ten endeavor to pay 
their debts in everything they can, before they resort to .the purse. 
In that day, the audacious sophism of calling land a monopoly, in a 
country that probably possesses more than a hundred acres for every 
living soul within its limits, was not broached; and, in that day, 
knots of men did not set themselves up as-special representatives of 
the whole community, and interpret the laws in their own favor, as 
if they were the first principles of the entire republic. But my pen 
is. running away with me, and.l must return to Lucy. A crisis is 
at hand; and we are about to see the laws triumphant, or acts of 
^aggression that will tar outdo all tliat has hitherto rested on the 
American name, as connected "with a want of faith in pecuniary 
transactions. 

Should 1 ev’ier continue these adventures, occasions may offer to 
draw certain pictures of the signs of the times; signs that have. an 
ominous aspect as regards real liberty, by susbstituting the most 
fearful of all tyrannies, the spurious, in its place. God alone knows 
for what we are reserved; but one thing is certain — there must be a 
serious movement backward, or th,e nation is lost. 


MILES M'ALLIXGEOKD. 


273 

1 had no tenantry to come out and meet me: but there were the 
' blacks. It is true, the law was on the point/)! liberating these slaves, 
leaving a tew of the younger to serve tor a term of years, that should 
requite their owners for the care of their infancies and their educa- 
tionsj but this law could not effect an immediate change in the con- 
dition of the Clawbonnys. The old ones did not wish to quit me, 
and never did; while it took years to loosen the tie which bound the 
younger portion of them to me and mine. At this hour, near tw’enl.y 
of them are living round me, in cottages of mine ; and the service of 
my kitchen is entirely conducted by them. Lucy prepared me for 
a reception by these children of Africa, even the outcasts having 
united with the rest to do honor to their young master. Honor is 
not the word; there was too much heart in the affair for so cold a 
term; the negro, whatever may be his faults, almost al\^ays pos- 
sessing an affectionate heart. 

At length, 1 remembered Marble, and, taking leave of Lucy, who 
would not let me accompany her home, 1 threw myself down the 
path, and found my mate cogitating in the carriage, at the foot of 
the hill. 

“ Well, Miles, you seem to value this land of yours, as a seaman 
does his ship,” cried Moses, before 1 had time to apologize for hav- 
ing kept him 80 long waiting. ” Howsomever, 1 can enter into the 
feelin’, and a blessed one it is, to get a respondentia bond off of land 
that belonged to a feljow’s grandfather. Next thing to being a 
bloody hermit, 1 hold/is to belong to nobody in a crowded world; 
and 1 would not part with one kiss from little Kitty, or one wrinkle 
of my mother’s, lor all the desert islands in the ocean. Come, sit 
down now, my lad — why, you look as red as a rosebud, and asdf 
you had been running up and down hill the whole time you’ve been 
absent.” 

“It is sharp work to come down such a hill as this on a trot. 
Well, here I am at your side; what would you wish to know?” 

“ Why, lad, I’ve been thinkin’, since you were away,>of the du- 
ties of a bridemaid ” — to his dying day Moses always insisted he had 
acted in this capacity at my wedding—” for the time draws hear, 
and 1 wouldn’t wish to discredit you, on such a festivity. In the 
first place, how am 1 to be dressed? I’ve got the posy jmu men- 
tioned in your letter, stowed away safe in my trunk. Kitty made it 
for me last week, and a good-lo"oking posy it was, the last time I 
saw it.” 

“ Did you think of the breeches?” 

Ay, ay — 1 have them, too, and what is more, I’ve had them 
bent. Somehow or other. Miles, running under bare poles does not 
seem to agree with my build. If there’s time, 1 should like to have 
a couple of bonnets fitted to the articles.” 

“ Those would be gaiters, Moses, and 1 never heard of a bride- 
maid in breeches and gaiters. No, you’ll be obliged to come out 
like everybody else.” 

“ Well, I care less for the -dress than 1 do- for the behavior. Shall 
1 be obliged to kiss Miss Lucy?” 

“ No, not exactly Miss Lucy, but Mrs. Bride— I believe it would 
not be a lawful marriage without that.” 

“ Heaven forbid that 1 should lay a straw in the way of your 


.274 


MILES WALLIMGFORD. 


happiness, my dear boy but you’ll make a signal for the proper 
lime to clear ship, tlieu— you know 1 always carry. a quid.” 

1 promised not’ to desert him in his need, and Moses became ma- 
terially easier in his mind. 1 do not wish the reader to suppose my 
mate fancied he was to act in the character of a woman at my hup- 
tidls, but simply that he was to act in the character of a bridemaid. 
The dithculties which beset him will be best explained by his last 
remark on this occasion, and with which 1 shall close this discourse. 
” Had 1 been brought up in a decent family,” he said, “ instead of 
having been set afloat on a tombstone, mati-irnony wouldn’t have 
been such unknown seas to me. But you know how it is, Miles, 
with a fellow that has no relations. He may laugh and sing, and 
make as much noise as he pleases, and try to make others lliink he’s 
in good company the whole time; but, after all, he’s nothing but a 
sort of bloody hermit, that’s traveling through life, all the same as 
if he was left with a few pigs on a desert island. Make-believe is 
much made use of in this world, but it won’t hold out to the last. 
Now, of all immortal beings that 1 ever met with, you’ve fallen in 
with her that has least of it. There’s some make-believe about you, 
Miies, as when you looked so bloody unconcerned all the time 3'Ou 
were ready to die of love, as 1 now Tarn, for the young woman 
you’re about to marry; and mother has a little of it, dear old soul, 
when she says she’s perfectly satisfied with the son the Lord has 
given her, for I’m not so blasted virtuous but I might be belter; 
and little Kitty has lots of it when she pretends she would as soon 
have one kiss from me as two from young Bright; but, as for Lucy 
Hardinge, I will say that 1 never saw any more make-believe about 
her than was becoming in a young woman.” 

iThis speech proved that Moses was a man of observation. Others 
might have drawn seemingly nicer shades of character, but this sin- 
cerity of feeling, truth of conduct, and singleness of purpose 
formed the distinguishing traits of Lucy’s virtues. 1 was excessive- 
ly gratified at finding that Marble rightly appreciated one who was 
so very, very dear to me, and took care to let him know as much, 
as soon as he had made his speech. 

We were met by the negroes, at the ilistance of half a mile from 
the house. Neb acted as master of the ceremonies, or commodore 
would be the better word, for he actually carried a bit of swallow- 
tail bunting that was borrowed from the sloop, and there was just 
as much.ol’ the ocean in the symbols used, as comported with the 
'honors manifested to a seaman. Old Cupid carried the ‘Wallingford 
ensign, and a soft of harlequinade had been made out of marlin- 
. spikes, serving mallets, sail-makers’ palms, and fids. ^The whole 
was crowned with a plug of tobacco, though I never used the weed, 
except in cigars. Neb had seen processions in town, as well as in 
foreign countries, and he took care that the present should do him'- 
self no discredit.' It is true that he spoke to me of it afterward, as 
a " rigger procession,” and aftected to hold it cheap; but I could 
see that the fellow was as mucji pleased with the conceits he had 
got up for the occasion, as he was m'ortified at the failure of the 
whole thing. The failure happened in this wise; no sooner did 1 
approach near enough to the elder blacks to have my features fairly 
recognized, than the women began to blubber and the men to toss, 


MILES WALLINGFOED. 275 

their .arms and shout “ Masser Mile!” “ Masser Mile!” thereby 
throwing everything into contusion, at once placing feeling upper- 
most, at the expense of “ law and ordei^” 

To descend from the stilts that seemed indispensable to do credit 
to Neb’s imagination, the manner in which 1 was received by these 
simple-minded beings was infinitely touching. All tLe old ones 
shook hands with me, while the younger .of both sexes keju more 
aloof, until I w^ent to each in succession, and went tlirough the cer- 
emony of my own accord. As for ihe boys, they rolled over on the 
grass, while the little girls kept making courtesies and repeating 
” welcome'home to Clawbonny, Masser Mile.” My heart was full, 
and I question if any European landlord ever got so warm a recep- 
tion from his tenantry, as 1 received from my slaves. 

And welcome 1 was indeed to Clawbonny, and most welcome was 
Clawbonny to me!. In 1804, New \ork had still some New York 
feeling left in the Slate. Strangers had not completely overrun her 
as has since happened; and New York names were honored; New 
• York feelings had some place among us; life, honres, firesides, and 
the graves of our fathers, not yet being treated as so many incidents 
in some new speculation. Men then loved the paternal roof: and 
gardens, lawns, orchards,, and church-yards, were regarded as some- 
thing other than levels for railroads and canals, streels. tor villages, 
or public promenades to be called batteries or parks, as might hap- 
jien to suit aldermanic ambition, or editorial privilege. 

Mr. Hardinge met me at the gate of the little lawn, took me in 
his arms, and blessed me aloud. We entered the house in silence, 
when the good old man immediately set about show’ing me, by 
ocular proof, that everything was restored as eflEectually as 1 was 
restored myself. Venus accompanied us, relating how dirty she had 
found this room, how much injured that, and otherwise abusing 
the Daggetts to my heart’s content. Their reign had been shorty 
however, and a Wallingford. was once more master of the five struc-^ 
lures of Clawbonny. I meditated a sixth, even that day, religiousl}’’^ 
preserving every stone that had been already laid, however, in my 
mind’s intention. 

' The next day was that named by Lucy as the one ili -which slie 
would unite herself to me forever. No sdcret was made of the 
affair, but notice had been duly given that all at Clawbonny might 
be present. 1 left home at ten in the morning, in a very handsome 
carriage that had been built for the occasion, accompanied by 
Moses attired as a bridemaid. It is true his dumpy square built 
frame, rather caricatured the shorts and silk stockings, and as we 
sat side by side in this guise, 1 saw Ids eyes roaming from his own 
limbs to mine. The peculiarity of Moses’s toilet was that which 
all may observe in men of his stamp, who coire out in full dress. 
The clothes a good deal more than fit them. Everything is as 
tight as the skin, and the wearer is ordinarily about as awkward in 
his movements and sensations, as if he had gone into society in 
pitiis naturalibus. That Moses felt the embarrassment of this novel 
attire, was sufficiently apparent by his looks and movements, to say 
nothing of his speech. 

“ Miles, I do suppose,” he remarked, as’ we trotted along, ” that 


276 - MILES M'ALLIXGEORD. 

tli€m that haven’t had the advanta^ge of being brought up at home 
never get a fair growth. Kow, here’s these legs of mine; there’s 
pleut)? of them, but they ought to have been put in a stretcher when 
I was a youngster, instead ot being left to run about a hospital. 
Well, I’ll sail under bare poles this once, to oblige you, bridemaid 
fashion; but this is the first and last time 1 do such a thing. Don’t 
forget to make the signal when I’m to kiss Miss Lucy.” 

My thoughts were^ not exactly in the vein to enjoy the embarrass- 
ment of Moses, and 1 silenced him by promising all he asked. We 
were not elegant enough to meet at the church, but 1 proceeded at 
once to the little Rectory, where 1 found the good divine and iiiy 
lovely bride had just corapletect their arrangements. A.nd lovely 
indeed as Lucy, in her simple but beautiful bridal attire! She 
was unattended, had none ot those gay appliances about her that 
her condition might have rendered proper, and which her foitune 
would so easily have commanded. Yet it was impossible to be in 
her presence without feeling the influence of her virgin mien and 
simple elegance. Her dress was a spotless but exquisitely fine 
India muslin, w^ll made and accurately fitting; and her dark glossy 
hair was embellished only by one GOP^b ornamented with pearls, 
and wearing the usual veil. As for her feet and hands, the}" were 
more like those of a fairy than of one human, while her counte- 
nance was filled with all the heartfelt tenderness of her honest nat- 
ure. Around her ivory throat, and over her polished shoulders, 
hung my own necklace of pearls, strung as they had been on board 
the ” Crisis,” giving her bust an air of affluent decoration, while it 
told a long story of distant adventure and of well-requited affection. 
We had no bridemaidg (Marble excepted), no groom’s-men, no 
other attendants than those ot our respective households. No per- 
son had been asked to be present, for we felt that our best friends 
were with us, when we had these dependents around us. At one 
time, X had thought of paying Drewett the conipliment of desiring 
^im to be a groom’s-man, but Lucy set the project at rest, by quaint- 
ly asking me how 1 should like to have been 7iis attendant, with the 
same bride. As for Rupert, 1 never inquired how he satisfied the 
scruples ot his father, though the old gentleman made many 
apologies to^me for his absence. I was heartily rejoiced, indeed, he 
did not appear, and 1 think Lucy was so also. 

The moment 1 appeared in the little drawing-room of the Rectory, 
which Lucy’s money and taste had converted into a very pretty but 
simple room, my “bright and beauteous bride” arose, and ex- 
tended to me her long-loved liand. The act itself, natural and 
usual as it was, was performed in a way to denote the frankness 
and tenderness of her character. Her color went and came a little, 
but she said nothing. Without resuming her seat, she quietly 
placed an arm in mine, and turned to her father, as much as to say 
WD were ready. Mr. Hardinge led the way to the church, which 
Avas but a step from the Rectory, and, in a minute or two, all stood 
ranged before the altar, with the divine in the chancel. Tlhe cere- 
mony commenced immediately, and in less than five minutes, 1 
folded Lucy in my arms as my wife. We had gone into tlie vestry- 
loom for this part of the affair, and there it was that we received 
the congratulations of those humble, dark-colored beings, who then 


MILES WALLIMGFOED. 217 

formed so material a portion of nearly every American family of 
any means. 

“ I wish you great joy and ebbery sort of happiness, ]Vl;isser 
Mile,” said old Venus, kissing my hand, though 1 insisted it sbpukl 
be my face, as had often been lier practice twenty years before. 
“Ah! dis was a blessed day to old inasser and niissiis, could de}'- 
saw it, but. And I won’t speak of anoder blessed saint dat he in 
heaven. And you too, my dear young missus; now, we all so grad 
it be you, for we did t’ink, at one time, dat would nebber come to 
pass. ” 

Lucy laid her own little white velvet-like hand, with the wed- 
ding-ring on its fourth finger, into the middle of Venus’s hard and 
h^rny palm, in the sweetest manner possible; reminding all around 
her that she was an old friend, and that she knew all the good 
qualities of every one who pressed forward to greet her, and to wish 
her happiness. 

As soon as this part of the ceremony was over, we repaired to the 
Rectory, where Lucy changed her wedding-robe, for what 1 fancied 
was one of the prettiest demi toilet dresses I ever saw. I know 1 
am now speaking like an old fellow, whose thoughts revert to the 
happier scenes of youth with a species of dotage, but it is not often 
a man has an opportunity of portraying such a bride and wife as 
Lucy Hardinge. On this occasion she removed the comb and veil, 
as not harmonizing with the dress in which she reappeared, but the 
necklace was worn throughout the wholS of that blessed day. As 
soon as my bride was ready, Mr. Hardinge, Lucy, Moses, and my- 
self entered the carriage, and drove over to Clawbonny. Thither 
all Lucy’s wardrobe had been sent, an hour before, under Chloe’s 
superintendence, who had barely returned to the church in time to 
witness the ceremony. 

One of the most precious moments of my life was that in which 1 
folded Lucy in my arms and welcomed her to the old place as its 
mistress. 

“ We came very near losing it, love,” 1 whispered; “ but it is now 
ours, unitedly, and we will be in no hurry to turn Our backs on 
it.” 

This was in a tete-d-tete, in the family-room, whither I had led 
Lucy, feeling that this little ceremony was due to my wife. Every- 
thing around us recalled former scenes, and tears were in the eyes of 
my bride as she gently extricated herself from my arms. 

“ Let us sit down a moment, Miles, and consult on family affairs, 
now we are here,” she said, smiling. “ It ma}’’ be early to begin, 
but such old acquaintances have no need of time to discover each 
other’s wn’shes and good and bad qualities. I agree wu'th you, heart 
and mind, in saying we will never turn our backs on Clawbonny — 
deal, dear Clawbonny, where we were children together. Miles; 
where we knew so well, and loved so well, our departed Grace— and 
I hope and tiust it will ever be our principal residence. The coun- 
try-house 1 inherit from Mrs. Eradfort is* better suited to modern 
tastes and habits, perhaps, but it can never be one half so dear to 
either of us. I would not speak to you on this subject before. 
Miles, because 1 wished first, to give you a husband’s just control 
oyer me* and mine, in giving you my hand; but, now, I may and 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


278 

■will sufTijest what has befn passing in my mind on this subject. 
Riversedge so was Mrs. Biadfort’s countr^vhoiise called — “ is a 
good residence, and is sufficiently well furnished for any respecta- 
ble faniif3\ Rupert and Rmily must live somewhere, and I feel cer- 
tain it cannot long bejn Broadway. Now 1 have thought I would 
rtseive Riversedge for their future use. They can take it immedi- 
ately, as a summer residence; for I prize one hour passed here more 
than twenty -tour hours passed there.” 

" “ What, rebel! Even should I choose to dwell in your West- 
chester house?” 

“ You will be here, Miles; and it is on your account that Claw- 
bonny is so dear to me. The place is yours — 1 am yours — and all 
your possessions should go together.” 

“Thank you, dearest. But will Rupert be able to keep up a 
town and country house?” 

“ The first, not long, for a certainty; how long, jmu know better 
than 1. When 1 have been your w ife half a dozen years, perhaps 
you "viun think me worthy of knowing the secret of the money he 
actually has.” 

This was said pleasantly; but it was not said without anxiety. 1 
reflected on the conditions of my secrecy. Grace wished to keep 
the facts from Lucy, lest the noble- hearted sister should awaken a 
feeling in the. brother that might prevent her bequest from being 
carried into effect. Then, she did not think Lucy would ever be- 
come my wife, and circumstances were changed, while there was no 
longer a reason lor concealing the truth fiom the present applicant, 
at least. 1 communicated all that had passed on the subject to my 
deeply-interested listener. Lucy received the facts with sorrow, 
though they w^e no more than she had expected to learn. 

“ 1 should be covered with shame, were 1 to hear this frgm any 
other than you, Miles,” she answered, after a thoughtful pause; 
“ but 1 know your nature too well, not to feel certain that the sacri- 
fice scarce cost you a thought, and that you regretted Rupert’s self- 
forgetfulness more than the loss of tlie money. 1 confess this 
revelation has changed all my plans for the future, so far as they 
were connected with my brother.^’ 

“ In what manner, dearest? Let nothing that has happened to 
me inluence your decisions.” 

“ In so much as it affects my views of Rupert’s character, it 
must. Miles. 1 had intended to divide Mrs, Bradfort’s fortune, 
equally with my. brother. Had 1 married any man but you, 1 
should have made this a condition of our union; but you 1 know so 
well, and so well know 1 could, trust, that 1 have found a deep sat- 
isfaction in placing myself, as it might be, in your pow’^er. I know 
that all my personal property is already yours, without reserve, and 
that 1 can make no disposition of the real, even after 1 come of age, 
without your consent. But 1 had that faith in you, as to believe 
you would let me do as 1 pleased.” 

“ Have it still, love. 1 have neither need, nor wish, to interfere.” 

“ No, Miles; it would be madness to give property to one of such 
a character. If you approve, 1 will make Rupert and Emily a 
moderate quarterly allowance, w'iili which, having the use of my 


MILES WALLIHGI^ORD. ' ^ 279 

country-place, they may live respectably. Further than that, 1 
should consider it wrong to go.” 

It is scarcely necessary to say how much 1 approved of this de- 
cision, or the applause 1 lavished on the warm-hearted donor. The 
.sum was fixed at two thousand dollars a year, before we left the 
room; and the result was communicated to Rupert by Lucy her- 
seFf, in a letter written the very next day. 

Our wedding-dinner was a modest, but a supremely happy meal; 
arid in the evening, the blacks had a ball in a large laundry, that 
stood a little apart, and which was well enough suited to such a 
scene. Our quiet and simple festivities endured for several days; 
the ” uner ’ of Neb and Chloe taking place very soon after our own 
marriage, and corning in good time to furnish an excuse for danc- 
ing the week fairly out. 

Marble got into trousers the day after the ceremony, and then he 
entered into the frolic with all his heart. On the whole, he wuis re- 
IJeved from being a bridemaid— a sufficiently pleasant thing — but 
having got along so well with Lucy he volunteered to act "in the 
same capacity to Chloe. The ofter was refused, however, in the 
following classical language. 

“No, Misser Marble; color is color, returned Chloe; ” ^Tru’s 
white, and we’s black. Mattermoney is a berry solemn occer- 
pashun; and there mustn’t be no improper jokes at my uner with 
Neb Claw bonny.” 


CHAPTER XXX. 

This disease is beyond my practice ; yet I have known those which have walked 
in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds. — Macbeth. 

The honeymoon was passed at Clawbonny, and many, many 
other hone 3 ^moons that have since succeeded it. 1 never saw a man 
more delighted than Mr. Hardiuge was, at finding me actually his 
son-in-law. I really believed he loved me more than he did Rupert, 
though he lived and died jn ignorance of his own son’s true char- 
acter. It would have been ciuel to undeceive him; and nothing 
particular ever occurred to bring about an eclaircissevient. Rupert’s ' 
want of principle was a negative, ralher than an active quality, and 
was only rendered of account by his vanity and selfishness. Self- 
indulgence was all he aimed at, and he was much too self-indulgent 
and shrewd to become an active rogue. He would have spent 
Lucy’s and my joint fortunes, had they been put at his control; 
but, as they never were, he was fain to limit his expenditures to 
such sums as we saw fit to give him, with certain extra allowances - 
extorted by his debts. Our intercourse w’as very much restricted 
to visits of ceremony, at least on my part; though Lucy saw him 
oftener; and no allusion was ever made to the past. I called him 
"‘Mr. Harainge,” and he called me ‘‘Mr. Wallingfoid.” “Ru- 
pert ” and ‘‘ Miles ” were done with forever, between us. 1 may as 
well dispose of the history of this person and his wife, at once; for 
I confess it gives me pain to speak o£ them, even at this distance of 
time. 

Rupert lived but four years, after my marriage to his sister. As 
soon as he found it necessary to give up the Roadway house, he ac- 


MILES AVALLINGFOKD. 


280 

eep'ted the use of Riversedge and his sister’s $2,000 a year, with 
grhtitude, and managed to get glong on that sum, apparently, down 
to the hour of his death, "it is true, that 1 paid his aebts, without 
Lucy’s knowledge, twice in that short period ; and 1 really think he 
was sensible of his errors, to a certain extent, before his eyes were 
closed. He left one child, a daughter, who survived him onl^ a 
few months. Major Merton’s complaints had carried him otf pre- 
viously to this. Between this old officer and myself there had ever 
existed a species of cordiality; gnd 1 do believe he sometimes re- 
membered his various obligations lo me and Marble, in a proper 
temper. Like most ofiicials of free governments, he left little 'or 
nothing behind him; so that Mrs. Hardinge w'as totally dependent 
on her late husband’s friends for a support, during her widowhood. 
Emily was one of those semi-worldly characters, that are not abso- 
lutely wanting in good qualities, while there is always more or less 
of a certain disagreeable sort of calculation in all they do. Rupert’s 
personal advantages and agreeable manners had first attracted her; 
and believing him to be Mrs. Bradfort’s heir, she had gladly married 
him. 1 think she lived a disappointed woman, after her father’s 
death ; and 1 was not sorry when she let us know that she was 
about to “ change her condition,” as it is termed in widow’s par- 
lance, by marrying an elderly man, who possessed the means of 
giving her all that money can bestow. With this second, or, ac- 
cording to Venus’s nomenclature, sfep-husband, she went to Europe, 
and there remained, dying only three years ago, an amply-endowed 
widow. We kept up a civil sort of intercourse with her to the last, 
actually passing a few weeks with her, some fifteen years since, in a 
house, half barn, half castle, that she called a palace, on one of . the 
-unrivaled lakes of Italy. As la Signora Montiera (Montier), she was 
sufficiently respected, finishing her career as a dowager of good 
reputation, and who loved the ‘‘ pomps and vanities of this wicked 
world.” 1 endeavored, in this last meeting, to bring to her mind 
divers incidents of her life, but with a singular want of success. 
They had actually passed, so far as her memory was concerned, into 
^ the great gulf of time, keeping company with her sins, and appeared 
to be entirely forgotten. Nevertheless, la Signora was disposed to 
treat me and view me with consideration, as soon as she found me 
living in credit, with money, horses, and carriages at command, and 
to forget that 1 had been only a shipmaster. She listened smilingly, 
and with patience, to what, 1 dare say, were my prolix narratives, 
though her own recollections were so singularly impaired. She did 
remember something about the wheelbarrow and the canal in Hyde 
Park; but as for the voyage across the Pacific, most of the incidents 
had passed out of her mind. To do her honor, Lucy w'ore the 
pearls, on an occasion in which she gave a little festa to lier neigh- 
bors; and 1 ascertained she did remember them. She even hinted 
to one of her guests, in my hearing, that they had been intended for 
her originally; but ” we can not command the impulses of the heart, 
you know, cdra niia'' she added, with a very self-complacent soit 
of sigh. 

What of all this? The ci-devant Emily was no more than a sum- 
mary of the feeling, interests, and passions of millions, living and 
dying in a narrow circle, erected by her own vanities, and eihbel- 


MII^ES WALLINGFORD. 


281 

lished by her own contracted notions of' what is the end and aim of 
human existence, and witlnn a sphere that ahe fancied respectable 
and refined. 

As for the race of the Clawbonnys, all the elderly members of 
this extensive family lived and died in my service, or it mi^>:ht be 
better to say,! lived in theirs. Venus saw several repetitions of 
her own charms in the offspring of Neb and C’hloe, though she 
pertinaciously insisted to the last that Cupid, as a step-husband, had 
no legitimate connection with any of the glistening, thick-lipped, 
chubby set. But even closer family ties than those which bound 
my slaves to me are broken by the pressure of human institutions. 
The conscript fathers of New York had long. before determined that 
domestic slavery should not continue within their borders; and, one 
by one, these younger dependents dropped off, to seek their fortunes 
in town or in other portions of the State, until few were left besides 
Neb, his consort, and their immediate descendants. Some of these 
last still cling to me; the parents having instiiied into the children, 
in virtue of their example and daily discourse, feelings that set at 
naught the innovations of a changeable state of society. With 
them, Clawbonny is stiU Clawbonn}'; and 1 and mine remain a race 
apart, in their perception of things. 1 gave Neb and Chloe their 
freedom-papers the day the faithful couple were married, and at 
once relieved their posterity from the servitude of eight-and-twenty, 
and five-and-twenty years, according to sex, that might otherwise 
have hung over all their elder children, until the law, by a general 
sweep, manumitted everybody. These papers Neb put in the bot- 
tom of his tobacco-box, not wishing to do any discredit to a gift 
from me; and there 1 accidentally saw them, in rags, sevent'een 
years later, not having been opened, or seen by a soul, as 1 firmly 
believe, -in all that time. It is true, the subsequent legislation of the 
State rendered all this of no moment; but the procedure showed the 
character and disposition of the man, demonstrating his resolution 
to slick by me to the last. He has had no intention to free me, 
whatever may have been my plans for himself and his race. 

1 never had more than one conversation with either Neb or his 
wife, on the subject of wages, and then I discovered how tender a 
thing it was with the fellow, to place him on a level with the other 
hired people of my farm and househoUl. 

“ I won’er what I done, Masser Mile, dat you want to pay me 
wages, like a hired man?” said Neb, half disposed to resent, and 
half disposed to grieve at the proposal. ” 1 was born in de family, 
arid it seem to me dat quite enough; but, if dat isn’t enough, I -went 
to sea wid you, Masser Mile, de fuss day you go, and 1 go ebbery 
time since.” 

These words, uttered a little reproachfully, disposed of the matter. 
From that hour to this the subject of wages has never been broached 
between us. When Neb wants clothes he goes and gets them, and 
they are charged to ‘‘Masser Mile;” when 'he wants money he 
comes and gets it, never manifesting the least shame or* reluctance, 
but asking tor all he has need of, like a man. Chloe does the same 
with Lucy, whom she regards, in addition to her haying the honor 
to be my wife, as a sort of substitute for ” Iffiss Grace.” With this 
honest couple Mr. and Mrs. Miles Wallingford, of Clawbonny, and 


282 


MILES WALLIKGPORD. 


Iliversedi>e, and Union Place, are still nothing but “ Masser Mile 
and “ Miss Lucy;” and 1 once saw an English traveler take out her 
note-book, and write something very funny, 1 dare say, when she 
heard Chloe thus address the mother of three fine children, who 
were hanging around her knee, and calling her by that, the most 
endearing ol all appellations. Chloe was indiflerent to the note of 
the traveler, howeve'r, still calling her mistress “ Miss Luc 3 ^ ” though 
the la§t is now a grandmother. 

As for the children of the house of ^Nebuchadnezzar, truth com- 
pels me to say that they have l)een largely influenced by flie spirit 
of the age, and that they look on the relation that existed for more 
thah a century, between the Wallingfords and» the .Clawbonnys, 
with eyes somewhat different from those of their parents. They 
have begun to migrate, and .1 am not sorry to see them go. Not- 
' withst-mding, the tie will not be wholly broken so long as any of 
the older stock remain, tradition leaving many of its traces among 
them. Not one has ever left my rule without my consent; and 1 
have procured places for them all, as ambition or curiosity has car- 
ried them into the world. 

As for this new spirit of the age'that is doing so much among us, , 
I am not twaddler enough to complain of all change, for 1 know 
that many of these changes have had the most beneficial effects, 

1 am far from thinking that domestic slavery, as it once existed at 
Clawbonny, is a picture of domestic slavery as it existed throughout 
the' land; but 1 do believe that the institution, as it was formerly- 
known in New York, was quite as much to the disadvantage of the 
white man, as to that of the black. There was always sorhething 
of the patiiarchal character in one of our households, previously to 
the change in the laws; and the relation of master and slave in old, 
permanent families, in which plenty was no stranger, had ever inore 
or less of that which was respectable and endearing. It is not so 
much in relation to the abolition spirit (if it would only confine its 
exertiops to communities over which it may happen to possess some 
light of control), that 1 feel alarmed, as in reference to a certain 
spirit, whi(;h appears to think there always must be more and more 
cliange, and that in connection with any specific interest, whatever 
may liave been its advancement under previous regimes; nothing in 
social life being fully develcfped, according to the creed of these 
movement-philosophers. Now, in my view of the matter, the two 
most dangerous of all parties in a state, are that which sets up con- 
servatism as its standard, and that w-hich sets up progress: the one 
is for preserving things of which it would be better to be rid, while 
the other crushes all that is necessary and useful in its headlong 
course. I now speak of these opposing principles-, as they are mar- 
shaled in 'parties, opposition giving pertinacity and violence to each. 
No sane man can doubt that, in the progress of events, much is 
produced that ought to be retained, and much generated that it 
would be wiser to reject. He alone is the safe and wise legislator, 
who knows how, and when, to make the proper distinctions. As 
for conservatism, Lafayette once characterized it excellently well in 
one ol his happiest hits in the tribune. “Gentlemen talk of the 
just medium [juste milieu),” he said, “ as if it embraced a clear 
political creed. We all know what the just medium is, as relates 


MILES WALLIMGEOKJI. 


283 

I 

to any particular question; it is simply the trulli, as it is connected 
with that question. But when gentlemen say, that they belong to the 
juste milieu, as a party, and that they intend to steer a middle course 
in all the public events ot the day, they remind me of a case like 
this— a maq of exaggerated notions lays down the proposition that 
four.and four make ten; another of more discretion and better arith- 
metic combats this idea, by maintaining that four and four make 
only eight; wliereupon, your gentleman of the^’?<sfe finds- 

himself obliged to say, ‘Messieurs, you are equally in the wrong; 
the truth never lies in extremes, and four and^four make nine.’ ” 
What is true of conservatism, as a principle, is still more true as 
to tlie movement; tor it often happens in morals, as well as in 
physics, that the remedy is worse than the disease. The. great evil 
of Europe, in connection with interests of tins nature, ^irises from 
facts that have little or no influence here. There, radical changes 
have been made, the very base of the social edifice having been 
altered, while much of the ancient architecture remains in the sup- 
erstructure. Where this is the case some errois may be pardoned 
in the artisans who are -lor reducing the whole to the simplicity of 
a single order. But, among ourselves, the man who can^ee no end 
to anything earthly, ever maintaining that the best always lies be- 
yond, if lie live long enough to succeed, may live long enoualr to 
discover that truth is always on an eminence, and that the down- 
ward course is only too easy to those who rush in so headlong a 
manner at its goal, as to suffer the impetus of the ascent to carry 
them past the apex. A social fact can not be carried out t# demon- 
stration like a problem in Euclid, the ramifications being so infinite 
as to reduce the results to something very like a conclusion from a- 
multitude of interests. 

It is next incumbent to speak of Marble. He passed an entire. ' 
month at Clawbonny, during which time he and iSIeb rigged the 
“ Grace and Lucy ” seven different 'Cvays, condng back to that in 
which they f ouiid fier as the only rig in which she w.ouid sail; no 
bad illustration, by the way, of what is too often the winding up of 
experiments in overdone political movements. Moses tried shoot- 
ing, wdiich he had heard belonged to a country life; and he had a 
sort of design to set up as a fourth or fifth class country gentleman; 
but his legs were too short to clamber over high rail-fences with any 
comfort, and lie gave up the amusement in despair. In the course 
of a trial of ten days, he brought in three robins, a small squirrel, 
and a crow; maintainirfg that'^he had also wounded a pigeon, and 
frightened a whole flock of quails. 1 have often bagged ten brace 
of woodcocks of a morning, in the shooting-grounds of Clawbonny, 
and as many quails in their season. 

Six weeks after our marriage, Lucy and 1 paid Willow Cove a 
visit, where we passed a very pleasant week. To my surprise, I 
received a visit from Squire Van Tassel, who seemed to bear no 
malice. Marble made peace with him as soon as he paid back the 
amount ot his father’s bond, principal and interest, though he al- 
T^ays spoke of him contemptuously to me in private. 1 must con- 
fess 1 was astonished at the seemingly forgiving temper of the old 
usurer; but 1 was then too young to understand that there are two 
principles that govern men’s conduct as regards their associations; 


284 


MILES \yALLIMGEOKD. 

the one proceeding from humility and Christian forgiveness, and the 
other from an indiffeience to what is liglvt. i am afraid the last 
produces more of what is called a forgiving temper than the first; 
men being often called vindictive, wnen they are merely honest. 

Marble lost his mother about a twelvemonth after we returned 
from our unfortunate voyage in the “Dawn.” A month oi- two 
earlier, he lost his niece, little Kitty, by a marriage with the son of 
“neighbor Bright.” After this, he passed much of his tinie at 
Olawbouny, making occasional visits to us, in Chamber Street, in 
the winter. I say in Chamber Street, as trade soon drove us out of 
Lucy’s town residence in Wall Street. The lot on which the last 
once stood is still her property and is a small fortune of itself. 1 
purchased and built in Chamber Street in 1805, making an excellent 
investment. In 1825, we went into Bleecker Street, a mile higher 
up town, in order the beau quartier; and i took advantage 

of the scarcity of money and low prices of 1839, to take up new 
ground in Union Place, very nearly a league from the point where 
Lucy commenced as a housekeeper in the good and growing town 
of Manhattan. 

After Marble found himself an orphan again, he complained that 
he was little better off than a “bloody hermit ” at Willow Cove, 
and began to talk about seeing the world. All of a sudden, he made 
his appearance at Clawbonny, bag and baggage, and announced an 
gntention to look fora mate’s berth in some East Incliaman. 1 
heard his story, kept him a day or two with me, while I superin- 
tended the masons who were building my addition to the house, 
which was then nearly completed, and then we proceeded to town 
in company. 1 took Moses to the shipyard, and carried him on 
board a vessel that was just receiving her spars (she was coppered 
and copper- f-astened, A No. 1, of live-oak frame, and southern pine 
decks, etc.), asking him how he liked her. He hoped she had a 
good name. “ Why, she is called the ‘ Smudge,’ ” 1 answered. “ 1 
hope you fancy it.” Moses jerked a finger over his 'shoulder, as 
much as to say he understood me, and inquired where I intended 
to send the craft. “ To Canton, with you tor master.” I saw that 
my old mate was touched with this proof of confidence, and that 
his self-esteem had so much risen with the discovery of his origin 
that he made no objections to the trust. I did not intend lo go reg- 
ularly into commerce, but 1 kept the “Smudge” running many 
years, always under Marble, and made a vast deal of money by her. 
Once she went to Europe, Lucy and 1 going in her as passengers. 
This was after the death of my dear old guardian, who made such 
an end as became his virtuous and Chrjstian life. >Ve, that is Lucy 
and 1, remained abroad several years, returning liome in the 
“ Smudge,” and on the last voyage sue ever made as belonging to 
me. Neb had often been out in the ship, just to vary the scene; 
and he came to Havre in her, as a matter of course, when “ Masser 
Mile,” “ Miss Lucy,” and their two “ young massers,” and two 
“young missuses,” were ready to come home. 1 was a good deal 
shocked at meeting my old friend, Moses, on this occasion, for h6 
was breaking up fast, being now hard on upon seventy; a time of 
Ijfe when most seamen are unfit for their calling. Moses, how^ever, 
i^ad held on, with a determination to convey us all back to Claw’- 


MILES WALLIKGFORD. 


285 


bonny. Three days after we had sailed, the man of stone had to 
give up, and take to his berth. I saw that his days were numbered, 
and felt it to be a duty to let him know his real situation. It was 
an unpleasant office, but became less so by the resigned and manly 
manner in which the invalid heard me. It was only when I ceased 
speaking, that he made an attempt to reply. 

“ I have known that the v’y’geof life was pretty near up, Miles,” 
he then answered, ” for many a day. When the timbers complain 
ind the new tree-nails hit only decayed wood, it is time to think of 
breaking up the hull for the craft’s copper and old iron. I’ve pretty 
much worn out the ‘ Smudge, ’ and the ‘ Smudge ’ has pretty much 
worn out me. I shall never see Ameriky, and 1 now give up charge 
of the craft to you. She is your own, and nobody can take better 
care of her. 1 own I should liRe to be cased in something that once 
belonged to her. There’s the bulkhead that was taken down, to 
alter the state-iooms for your family— it would make as comfortaole 
a coffin as a body could want.” 

I promised the old man all should be done, as he desired. After 
a ^hoit pause, it struck me the present might be a favorable moment 
to say a word on the subject of the future. Marble was never a 
vicious man, nor could he be called a particularly wicked man, as 
the world goes. He was thoroughly honest, after making a few al- 
lowances for the peculiar opinions of seamen, and his sins Were 
principally those of omission. But, of religious instruction he had 
literally known none, in early life. That which he had picked up 
in his subsequent career, was not of the most orthodox character. I 
had often thought Marble was well disposed on such subjects, but 
opportunity was always wanting to improve this hopeful disposition. 
Accordingly, I now spoke plainly to him, and I could see his still 
keen eyes turned wistfully toward me more than once, as he listened 
with an absorbed attention. 

‘‘ Ay, ay, Miles,” he answered, when 1 was through, “ this may 
all be true enough, but it’s rather late in the day for me to go to 
school. I’ve heard most of it before, in one shape or another, but 
it always came so much in scraps and fragments that before I could 
bend one idee on to another, so as to make any useful gear of the 
whole, some of the pieces have slipped through my fingers. How- 
s’ever, I’ve been hard at work at the good book, the whole of this 
v’y’ge, and you know it’s been a long one;' and I must say that I’ve 
picked up a good deal that seems to fne to be of the right quality. 
Now 1 alwaj^s thought it was cue of the foolishest things a man 
could do, to forgive one’s enemies, my rule having been to return 
broadside for broadside, as you must pretty well knnw; but I now 
see that it is more like a kind natur’ to pardon, than to revenge.” 

” My dear Moses, this is a. very hopeful frame of mind; carry out 
this feeling in all things, leaning on the Saviour alone tor your sup- 
port, and your dying hour may well be the happiest of your life.” 

“There’s that bloody Smudge, notwithstanding; I hardly think 
it will be expected of me to look m-'on him as anything but a ’long- 
shore pirate, and a fellow to be disposed of in the shortest way pos- 
sible. As for old Van Tassel, he’s gone to square the yards in a part . 
of the univarse where all his tricks will be known; and 1 hold it to 
be onreasonable to carry spite ag’in a man beyond the grave. 1 rather 


286 


MILES WALLINGFORD. 


think 1 have altogether fori^iven him; though, to speak the trulh, 
he deserved a rope’s ending.” 

1 understood Marble much better than he understood himselt. Tie 
'felt the sublime beauty of the Christian morality, but at the same 
time, he felt there were certain notions so rooted in his own htait, 
that it exceeded his power to extract them. As tor Smudge, his 
mind had its misgivings concerning the propriety of his own act, 
and. with the quickness ot his nature, sought to protect itself against 
its own suggestions, by making an exception of that wretch, as 
against the general mandates of God. Van Tassel he probably could, 
in a manner, pardon, the mischief having been in a measure re- 
paired; though it was a forgiveness that was strangely tinctured 
’with his own deep contempt for the meanness of the transgressor. 

Our conversation lasted a long time. At length Lucy joined in 
it, when 1 thought it wisest to leave the old tar in the hands of one 
so well fitted by nature and education to be the instrument, under 
the providence of God, of bringing him to a more healthful view of 
his condition. 1 had the ship to take care of, and this was a good 
excuse for not interfering much with what passed between the 
dying man and her who might aknost be termed his ministering 
angel. 1 overheard many of their conferences, and was present at 
some of their prayers, as were my sons and daughters; being thus 
enabled to understand the progress that was liiade and the charac- 
ter of the whole procedure. 

It was an admirable sight, truly, to see that still lovely woman using 
all the persuasion of her gentle rhetoric, all the eloquence ot her 
warm feelings and just mind, devoting herself for days and days to 
the labor of leading such a spirit as that of Marble’s to entertain 
jiist and humble vietvs of his own relation to the Creator and his 
Son, the Saviour of men. 1 will not say that complete success 
crowned the pious efforts of the single-hearted woman it was my 
blessed fortune to call my wife: this, perhaps, was not to be ex- 
pected. It required a power exceeding hers to guide the human 
lieart at seventy, after a seaman’s life, to a full repentance of its 
sins; but, by the grace of God, so much seemed lo be acccomplisbed 
as to give us all reason to hope that the seed had taken root, and 
that the plant might grow under the guidance of that Spirit in whose 
likeness- the most lowly of the race has been created. 

The passage was long, but very tranquil, and there was ample 
time for all that has been related. The ship was still to the east- 
- ward of the Grand Banks, when Marble ceased to converse much; 
though it was evident his thoughts were intently musing. He fell 
away fast, and 1 began to look forward to his final departure as an 
event that might occur at any hour. He did hot seem to sufter, but 
his hold of life gradually gave way, and the spirit was about to 
take its departure, purely on account of the decayed condition ot 
the earthly tenement in which it had so long dwelt, as the stofk 
finally deserts the tottering chimney. 

About a week after this change, my son Miles came to me on 
deck, and informed me his dear mother desired to see me in the 
cabin. On going -below, I was nut by Lucy, with a face that de- 
noted how solemn she felt was the character of the intelligence she 
had to communicate. 


MILES WALLIIsGFOED. 287 

" Tli€! moment is at hand, dear Miles,” she said. Our old 
friend is about to be called away.” ' 

1 felt a pang at this speech, thohgh I had long expected the re- 
sult. Many of the earlier and more adventurous years of my life 
passed rapidly in review before me, and 1 found the image of the 
dying man blended with nearly all. Whatever may have -been his 
peculiarities, to me he had always been true. From* the hour when 
1 first shipped, as a runaway boy, on board the “ John,” down to 
that hour, Moses Marble had proved himself a firm and disinterested 
friend to Miles Wallingford. 

‘‘ Is he conscious?” I asked, anxiously. “ When I last say^’ him, 
1 thought his mind wandered a little.” 

” Perhaps it did; but he is now more collected, it not entirely so. 
There is reason to think he has at length felt some of the influence 
of the Redeemer’s sacrifice. For the last week, the proofs of this 
have been increasing.” 

No more passed between Lucy and me, on the subject, at that 
time; but 1 entered tlie cabin in which the cot of Marble had been 
slung. It was a spacious, airy room, for a ship; one that hgd been 
expressly fitted by my orders, for the convenience of Lucy and her 
two daughters, but which those dear, self-denying creatures had 
early and cheerfully given up to the possession of their old friend. 

As yet, 1 have not particularly spoken of these two girls, the eld- 
est of whom was named Grace, and the youngest Lucy. At that 
time, the- first was just fifteen, w^hile her sister was two years 
younger. By a similar coincidence,' Grace resembled the women of 
my family most; while the latter, the dear, ingenuous, frank, pretty 
liitle thing, had so much likeness to her mother, when at the same 
time of life, that 1 often caught in her in my arms, and kissed her, 
as she uttered some honest sentiuieul, or laughed joyously and 
melodiously, as had been the practice of her who bore her, twenty 
years before. On those occasions, Lucy would smile, and some- 
times a slight blush would suffuse her face; for 1 could see she well 
understood the impulse which would so suddenly carry me oft to 
the days of my boyhood and boyish aftection. 

On the present solemn occasion both the girls were in the cabin, 
struggling to be calm, and doing all that lay in their power to solace 
the dying man. Grace, the oddest, was ihe most active and effi- 
cient, of course, her tender years inducing diffidence in her sister; 
still, that little image of her mother could not be kept entirely in 
the background, when the heart and desire to be useful were urging 
her to come out of herself, in order to share in her sister’s duties. 

1 found Marble quite sensible, and the anxious manner in which 
he slowly examined all the interested faces that were now gathered 
about his bed, proved how accurately he noted the present and the 
absent. Twice did he go over us all, ere he spoke in the husky 
tones that usually precede death. 

” Call Neb,” he said—” I took leave of my mates, and of all the 
rest of the men, yesterday; but 1 consider Neb as one of the family. 
Miles, and left him for the last. ” 

This 1 knew to be true, though 1 purposely absented myself from 
a scene' that I well understood would have to be repeated in my 
case. Neb was summoned accordingly, not a syllable being uttered 


MILES \VALLI2>^GF0RD. 


283 

among us, until the black Stood just without the circle of my own 
wife and children. Jiioses watched the arrangement jealously, and 
it seems he was dissatisfied at seeing his old shipmate keeping so 
much aloof at that solemn and absorbing moment. 

“'You are but a nigger, 1 know. Neb,” the old seaman got out, 
“ but your heart w^ould do honor to a king. It’s next to Miles’s, 
and that’s as mucb as can be said of any man’s. Come nearer, 
boy; none here will grudge you the liberty.” 

Little Lucy drew back in an instant, and fairly pulled Neb into 
the-place she herself had just before occupied. 

' “ Bless you for that, young ’un,” said Marble. “ 1 didn’t know 
your mother when she w^as of your age, but 1 can see that one cat- 
block is not more like another than you are like what she was 
at your age; keep that likeness up, my dear, and then your father 
will be a*s happy and fortinate in his dartar as he has been in his 
wife. Well, nobody desarves his luck better than Miles — providen- 
tial luck, 1 mean; my dear Madam Wallingford,” interpreting a 
sorrowful expression of Lucy’s eyes aright; “ for thanks to your 
teaching, I now" understand there is a Divine director of all our 
fortins, whether ashore or afloat, black or w"hite.” 

“ There is not a sparrow falls. Captain Marble,” said the gentle, 
eal’nest voice of my wife, “ that he does not note it.” 

“ Yes, so 1 understand it now", though once 1 thought little of 
such things. Thus, when w"e w"ere w-recked in the ‘ Daw"n,’ Neb, 
it was by God’s w"ill, and with a design, like, to bring us three all 
on to our present fortin, and present frame of mind; should 1 ever 
use the word luck, ag’in, which 1 may be likely enough to do from 
habit, you are all to understand 1 mean what 1 call providentiai 
luck. Yes, Madam Wallingford, 1 comprehend it perfectly, and 
shall never forget your kindness, which has been to me the best turn 
of providential luck that has ever happened. I’ve sent for you. Neb, 
to have a parting word, and to give you the advice of an old man 
before 1 quit this w'orld altogether.” 

Neb began to twist his fingers, and 1 could see tears glistening in 
his eyes; for his attachment to Maible was of very long standing 
and of proof. WTien men have gone tlirough, together, as much as 
we three had experienced in company, indeed the most trifling 
griefs of every-day life get to appear so insignificant, that our con- 
nection seems to be one of a nature altogether stronger than the 
commoner ties. 

“ Yes, sail, Cap’in Marble, sah; what please to be your wish, 
sail?” asked the negro, struggling to subdue his grief, 

“ To say a tew words of advice. Neb, to take leave of my friends, 
and then'lo be struck off the shipping articles of life. Old age and 
hard sarvice. Neb, has made me veer cable to the better end. The 
stopper is working loose, and a few more surges will leave the hulk 
adrift. The case is different with you, who are in your jirime, and 
a prime chap be you, on a yard or at the wheel. My parting advice 
to you. Neb, is, to hold out as you’ve begun. 1 don’t say you’re 
without failin’s (what nigger is?), but jou’re a good fellow, and as 
sartain to be found in your place as the pumps. In the first place, 
you’re a married man; and, though your wife is only a n egress, she’s 
your wife, and you must stick to her through thick and thin. Take 


MILES WALLIKGFORD. 


289 


your master as an example, and obsarve how he loves and cherishes 
your mistress ” (here Lucy pressed, gently, closer to my side;) “ and 
then, as lo your children, bring ’em up accordin’ to- the advice ot 
Madam Wallingford. You can never sail under better insfruclions 
than hern, as 1 know, by experience. Be particular to make that 
Hector ot yours knock oft from swearing; he’s begun, and what’s 
begun in sin is pretty sartain to have an endin’. Talk to him, first, 
and, if that won’t do, rope’s-end it out ot him. There’s great 
vartue in ratlin stuff, among boys. As for yourself, Neb, hold on 
as you have begun, and the Lord “will have marcy on you, before 
the v’y’ge is up.” 

Here Slarble ceased from exhaustion; though he made a sign to 
Neb not to move, as he had more- to say. After resting a little, he 
felt under his pillow, whence he produced a very old tobacco-box, 
fumbled about until he had opened it, took a small bite, and shut 
the box again. All this was done very slowly, and with the un- 
certain, feeble movements of a dying man. When the lid was re- 
placed, Marble held the box towaid Neb, and resumed his address. 

” Use that for my sake, Neb,” he said. ‘‘ It is full of excellent 
tobacco, and the box has the scent of thirty years in it— that being 
the time it has sailed in my company. That box has been in nine 
fights, seven wrecks, and has seen more boat sarvice than most 
Lonrlon watermen, or any Whitehaller of ’em all. Among other 
explites, it has been round the w^brld four times, besides having run 
the Straits of Magellan in the dark, as might be— as your master 
and you know as well as 1 do. Take that box therefore, lad, and 
be particular, always,, to put none but the best of pig-tail in it, for it’s 
used to that only. Aud.now, Neb, a word about a little duty you’re 
to do for me, when you get in. Ask 3 ^our master, first, for leaye, 
and then ^o up to Willow Cove, and carry my blessin’ to Kitty 
and her children. It’s easy done, if a man sets about it in the right 
spirit. All you have to do is to go up to the Cove, and say that I 
prayed to God to bless ’em all, before 1 died. Do you think jmu 
can remember that?” 

” 1 try, Cap’in Marble, sah — yes, sah, 1 try all I can, dough I’m 
no scholar.” 

” Perhaps you had better confide this office to me, ’’said the 
musical voice-of my wife. 

Marble was pleased, and he seemed every way disposed to accept 
the offer. 

“ 1 didn’t like to trouble you so much,” he answered, ” though 1 
feel grateful lor the offer. Well, then. Neb, you may leave the 
blessin’ unsaid, as your mistress is so kind — hold on a bit; you can 
give it to Chloe and her little family— all but Hector, 1 mean, but 
not to him unless he knocks off swearing! As soon as he does that, 
why, let him have his share. Now, Neb, give me your hand. Good- 
by, boy; you’ve been true to me, and God bless you lor it. You 
are but a nigger, I know; but there’s One in whose eyes your soup 
is as precious as that of riiany a prince and priest.” 

Neb shook hands with his old commander, broke out of the 
circle, rushed into the steerage, and blubbered like a baby. In the 
mean time JMarble paused to recover his own self-possession, which 
had been a little disturbed by the feeling manifested by the black, 
IQ 


290 


illLES WALLINCtFORD. 


As Boon as be felt himself a little composed, he hunted about his cot 
until he found two small paper boxes, each of which contained a 
very pretty ring, that it seemed he had purchased for this express 
purpose when last in port. These rings he gave to my daughters, 
who received the presents sobbing, though with strong natural ex- 
hibition of the friendly sentiments tliey entertained for him. . 

“ Your father and 1 have gone through man}'’ hardships and trials 
together,’^ he said, “ and 1 love you all even more than I love my 
own relations. 1 hope this is not wrong. Madam Wallingford, tor 
it’« out of my power to help it. I’ve already given my keepsakes 
to the boys, and to your parents, and 1 hope all of you will some- 
times remember the poor old sea-dog that God, in his wisdom, threw 
like a wait in your way, that he might be benefited by your society. 
There’s your polar star, young ’uhs,” pointing to my wife. “ Keej) 
God in mind always, and give to this righteous woman the second 
place in your hearts— not that 1 say a word, or think anything ag’in 
your father, who’s a glorious fellow in his way, but, a’ter all, young 
women should copy a’ter their mothers, when they’ve such a 
mother as yourn, the best of fathers falling in far astern, in gentle- 
ness and other vartues.” 

The girls wept freely, and Marble, after waiting a few minutes, 
took a solemn leave of all my children, desiring everybody but Lucy 
and myself to quit the cabin. An hour passed in discourse with 
us two, during which Moses frequently exhorted me to give ear to 
the pious counsels of my wife, for he manifested much anxiety for 
the future welfare of my soul. 

“I’ve generalized a great deal over that affair of bmudge the 
whole of this v’y’ge,’’ he continued, “ and I’ve had sore misgivings 
consarning the explite. Madam Wallingford, however, has eased 
my mind on that score, by showing me how to lay the burden of 
this, with all the rest of the load of my sins, on the love of Christ. 
I am resigned to go. Miles, for it is time, and I’m getting to be use- 
less. It’s wicked to wish to run a ship after her frame has worked 
loose, and nothing now fastens me to life but you. 1 own it’s hard 
to part, and my mind has had some weakness on the matter. How- 
ever, Miles, my dear boy, for boy you are still in my eyes, there is 
comfort in looking ahead. Go by your wife’s rules, and when the 
v’y’ge is up we shall all find ourselves in the same haven.” 

“ It gives me much happiness, Moses, to find you in this frame of 
mind,” 1 answered. “ Since you must quit us, you will not leave 
one behind of the name of Wallingford, that will not rejoice at this 
prospect for the future. As for your sins, God has both the power 
and the will to lighten you of their weight, when he finds you dis- 
posed to penitence, and to make use of the mediation of his blessed 
Son. It there is anything you desire to have done hereafter, this is 
a very proper time to let me know it.” 

“ I’ve made a will. Miles, and you’ll find it in my desk. There 
are some trifles given to you and yourh, but you want not gold, and 
the rest all goes to Kitty and her children. There is a p’int, how- 
ever, on which my mind is very ondetermined, and 1 will now lay 
it before you. Don’t you think it more becoming for a seaman to 
be buried in blue water, than to be tuck’d up in a church-yard? 1 


MILES WALLTNarORn. 

do not like tombstones, havin<? had too mucUot them in 'arly youth, 
and feel as if 1 want sea-room. What is your opinion, Miles?” 

” Decide for yourself. Your wishes will be our law.” 

Then roll me up in my cot and launch me overboard, m the old 
way. 1 have sometimes thought it might be well to lie at my 
mother’s side; but she’ll excuse an old tar for preferring blue water 
to one of your country church-yards.” 

After this, lhad several interviews with the old man, though he said 
nothing more on the subject of his interment, that of his property, 
or that of his departure. Lucy read the Bible to him two or three 
times every day, and she prayed with him often. On one occasion. 
I heard a low, sweet voice, near his cot, and taking a look, ascer- 
tained it was my little pet, my daughter Lucy, then only thirteen, 
reading a second time a chapter that her mother had gone through 
only an hour before, with some of her own remarks. The com- 
ments were wanting now, but the voice had the same gentle earnest- 
ness, the same sweet modulations, and the same impressive distinct- 
ness as that of the mother! 

Marble lived until we had passed within the Gulf Stream, dying 
easily and without a groan, with all my family, .Neb, and the first 
mate, assembled near his cot. The only thing that marked his end 
was a look of singular significance that he cast on my wife, not a 
minute before he breathed his last. There he lay, tliC mere vestige 
of the robust, hardy seaman 1 had once known, a child in physical 
powers, and about to make the last great change. Material as were 
the alterations in the man, from what he had been when in his 
pride, 1 thought the spiritual or intellectual part of his being w’as 
less to be recognized than the bodily. Certainly that look was full 
of resignation and hope, and we had reason to believe that this rude 
but honest creature was spared long enough to complete the primary 
object of his existence. 

In obedience to his own earnest request, though sorely against the 
feelings of my wife and daughters, 1 buried the body of my old 
friend in the ocean, six days before we made the laud. 

And now it remains only to speak of Lucy. 1 have deferred this 
agreeable duty to the last, passing over long years that were preg- 
nant with many changes, in order to conclude with this delightful 
scheme. 

The first few years of my married life were years of bliss to me. 
1 lived under a constant sense of happiness — a happiness that man 
can derive only from a union with a woman of whom his reason 
and principles as much approve, as his tastes and passion cherish. 1 
do not mean to be understood that the years which have succeeded 
were a whit less happy, for, in a certain sense, they have been more 
so, and have gone on increasing in happiness dowm to the present 
hour; but because lime and use finally so far accustomed me to this 
intimate connection with purity, virtue, female disinterestedness, 
and feminine delicacy, that 1 should have missed them, as things in- 
corporated with my very existence, had 1 been suddenly deprived 
of my wife, quite as much as in the first years of my married life, 1 
enjoyed them as things hitherto unknown to me. 

As 1 ride over the fields of Clawbonny, even at this day, I recall 
Tyith tranquil delight, and 1 trust with humble gratitude, the manner 


292 


AfTLES AA'ALLlxaEOlit). 

in which those blessed early years of our marriage passed. . iThat 
was the period when every thought of mine was truly shared by 
Lucy. She accompanied me in my daily rides or drives, and list- 
ened to every suggestion that fell from my lips, with kind interest 
and the most indulgent attention, rendering me back thought for 
thought, feeling for feeling, laugh for laugh; and occasionally, tear 
for tear. Not an emotion could become aroused in my breast that 
it did not meet with its reflection in hers; or a sense of the ludicrous 
be awakened, that her keen but chastened humor did not increase 
its effect by sympathy. Those were the years in which were planned 
and executed the largest improvements for the buildings, pleasure- 
grounds, and fields of Claw bonny. We built extensively, not bnl}’- out- 
houses and stables, better suited to our present means and more en- 
larged mode of living than those which existed in my father’s time, 
but, as lias been stated before, we added to the dwelling, preserving 
its pleasing confusion and irregularity of architecture. Mter passing 
the flrst summer which succeeded our marriage in this manner, 1 
told Lucy it was time to stop building and improving my own place, 
in order that some attention might be bestowed on that she had in- 
herited from Mrs. Bradf ort, and which was also old family property. 

“ Do not think of it. Miles,” she said. “ Keep Riversedge in 
good order, and no more. Rupert,” who was then living, and in 
possession, ‘‘will see that nothing goes to waste; but 'Clawbonny, 
dear Clawbonny, is the true home of a Wallingford— and 1 am now 
a Wallingford, you will remember. Should this precious boy of 
ours live to become a man, and marry, the old Westchester property 
can be used by him, until we are ready to give him up possession 
here.” 

This plan has not been literally carried out; for Miles, my eldest 
son, lives with us at Clawbonny in the summer; and his noisy boys 
are at this moment playing a game of ball in a field that has been 
expressly devoted to their amusements. 

The period which succeeded the first half dozen years of my union 
with Lucy, was not less happy than the first had been, though it 
assumed a new character. Our children then came into the account, 
not as mere playthings, and little beings to be most tenderly loved 
and cared for, but as creatures that possess the image of God in 
their souls, and whose future characters, in a measure, depended 
on our instruction. The manner in which Lucy governed her chil- 
dren, and led them by gentle means to virtue and truth, has always 
been a subject of the deepest admiration and gratitude with me. 
Her rule has been truly one of love. 1 do not know that 1 ever 
heard her voice raised in anger to any human being, much less to 
her own offspring; but whenever reproof has come, it has come in 
the language of interest and affection, more or less qualified by a 
severity, as circumstances may have required. The result has been 
all that our fondest hopes could have led us to anticipate. 

When we traveled, it was with all our young people, and a new 
era of happiness, heightened by the strongest domestic affection, 
opened on us. All who have seen the world have experienced the 
manner in which our intellectual existences, as it might be, exnand; 
but no one who has not experienced it, can tell the deep, heart-felt 
satist action there is, in receiving this enlargement of the moral creat- 


MILES WALLIjS^GJiOKD. 293 

lire, in close association with those we love most on earth. The 
nianner in which Lucy enjoyed all she saw and learned, on our first 
visit to the other hemisphere; her youngest child — all four of our 
children were born within the first eight years of our marriage— her 
youngest child w^ then long past its infancy, and she had leisure 
to enjoy herself, in increasing the happiness of her offspring. She 
had improved her mind by reading; and her historical lore, in par- 
ticular, was alwaj'S ready to be produced for the common advantage. 
There was no ostentation in this; but everything was produced just 
as if each had a right to its use. Then it was 1 felt the immense 
iinportance of having a companion, in an intellectual sense, in a 
wife. Lucy had always been intelligent; but I never fully under- 
stood her superiority in this respect, until we traveled together amid 
the teeming recollections and scenes of the old world. That America 
is the greatest country of ancient or modern times, 1 shall not deny. 
Everybody says it; and what everybody says must be true. Never- 
theless, 1 will venture to hint that, mteris paribus, and where there 
is the disposition to think at all, the intellectual existence of every 
American who goes to Europe is more than doubled in its intensity. 
This is the country of action, not of thought or speculation. Men 
follow out their facts to results, instead of reasoning t\\em out. Then, 
the multiplicity of objects and events that exist in the old countries 
to quicken the powers of the mind, has no parallel here. It is owing 
to this want of the present and the past which causes the American, 
the moment he becomes speculative, to run into the future. That 
future promises much, and, in a degree, may justify the weakness. 
Let us take heed, however, that it do not lead to disappointment. 

After all, 1 have found Lucy the most dear to me, and the most 
valuable companion, since we have both passed the age of fifty. Air 
is. not more transparent than her pure mind, and 1 ever turn to it 
for counsel, sympathy, and support, with a confidence and reliance 
that experience could alone justify. As we draw nearer to the close 
of life, 1 find my wife gradually loosening the ties of this world, her 
love for her husband and children excepted, and fastening her looks 
on a future world. In thus accomplishing, with a truth and nature 
that are unerringly accurate, the great end of her being, nothing 
repulsive, nothing that is in the least tinctured with bigotry, and 
nothing that is even alienated from the affections^ or her duties in 
life, is mingled with her devotion. My family, like its female head, 
has ever been deeply impressed by religion; but it is religion in its 
most pleasing aspect; religioh that has no taint of puritanism, and 
in which sin and innocent gayety are never confounded. It is.the 
most cheerful family of. my acquaintance; and this, 1 must implicit- 
ly believe, solely because, in addition to the bounties it enjoys, under 
the blessing of God, it draws the just distinction between those 
things that the word of God has prohibited, and those which come 
from the excited and exaggerated feelings of a class of theologians, 
who, constantly preaching the doctrine of faith, have regulated 
their moral discipline solely, as if, in their hearts, they placed all their 
reliance on the efficacy' of a school of good works that has had its 
existence in their own diseased imaginations. 1 feel the deepest 
gratitude to Lucy for having instilled the most profound sense of 
their duties into our children, while they remain totally free from 


294 


. MILES WALLIMGEOKD. 

cant, and from those exaggerations and professions which so many 
mistake for piety of purer emanation. 

Some of my readers may feel a curiosity to know how time has 
treated us elderly people, for elderly we have certainly become. As 
for myself, 1 enjoy a green old age, and 1 believe 1 look at least ten 
years younger than i am. Ihis 1 attribute to temperance and exer- 
cise. Lucy was positively an attractive woman until turned of fifty, 
retaining even a good deal of her bloom down to that period of life. 
1 think her handsome still, and old Neb, when in a flattering liumor, 
is apt to speak of either of my daughters as his “ handsome young 
missus,” and of my wife as his “ handsome ole missus.” 

And why should not Lucy Hardinge continue to retain many 
vestiges of those charms which rendered her so lovely in youth? 
Ingenuous, pure of mind, sincere, truthful, placid, and just, the 
soul could scarcely fail to communicate some of its blessed proper- 
ties to that countenance which e^en now so sensitively reflects its 
best impulses. 1 repeat, Lucy is still handsome, and in my eyes 
even her charming daughters are less fair. That she has so long 
been, and is still my wife, forms not only the delight but the pride 
of my life. It is a blessing, for which, 1 am not ashamed to say, 1 
daily rendej thanks to God, on my knees. 


THE END. 


ADVEETISEMENTS. 


lA&JlirC BVI F'ff 

1 THE BEST 


^WasMiii CoDipiJ 

EVER INVENTED. 


No Lady, Married or Sin- 


gle, Rich or Poor, House- 


keeping or Boarding, will 


« be without it after testing 
its utility. 

rEARLlNE 

Sold by all first-class 
Grocers, but beware of 
1 worthless imitations. 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 

The Seaside Library 

EiDZTzoisr. 

♦ 

270 The Wandering Jew. By Eugene Sue. Parts I. and 


If., eacli 20 

279 Little Ooldie. By Mrs. Sumner Hayden 20 

284 Doris. By '‘The Duchess” 10 

286 Deldee; or? The Iron Hand. By F. Warden.. 20 

330 May Blossom ; or, Between T wo Loves. By Mar- 

GARET Lee 20 

345 Madam. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

359 The Water-Witcli. By ,T. Fentmore Cooper 20 


362 The Bride of Lammermoor. By Sir WAuraR Scott. . 20 

For sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, post- 
age free, on receipt of 12 cents for single numbers, and 25 cents for 
double numbers, by the publisher. Parties ordering by mail will 
please order by numbers. 

GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street. 


WHAT IS SAPOLIO? 

equal for all cleaning purposes except the laundry. 

What will Sapolio do? VVh 


It is a solid, 
handsome cake 
of scouring soap, 
_ _ which has no 

To use it is to value it. 

rhy, it will clean paint, make oil-cloths bright, and 
give the floors, 'tables and shelves a new appearance. 

It will take the grease off the dishes and off the pots and pans. 

You can scour the knives and forks with it, and make the tin things shine 
brightly. The wash-basin, the bath-tub, even the greasy kitchen sink, will be 
as clean as a new pin if you use SAPOLIO. One cake will prove all we 
pay. Be a clever little housekeeper and try it. 

SEWARE OF IMITATIONS. 


MUNRO^S PUBLICATIONS. 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY 


ORl>irVARY ERITIO]^* 


GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

(P.O.Box 8751.) 1 7 to 27 Vandewater Street, N. Y. 


The following works contained in The Seaside Library, Ordinary Edition, 
are for-sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, on 
receipt of 13 cents for single numbers, and 25 cents for double numbers, by the 
. publisher. Parties ordering hy mail will please order by numbers. 


MRS. ALEXANDER’S WORKS. 

30 Her Dearest Foe 20 

36 The Wooing 0’4 20 

46 The Heritage of Langdale 20 

370 Ralph Wilton’s Weird 10 

400 Which Shall it Be? 20 

532 Maid, Wife, or Widow 10 

1231 The Freres 20 

1259 Valerie’s Fate 10 

1391 Look Before You Leap 20 

1502 The Australian Aunt 10 

1595 The Admiral’s Ward. 20 

1721 The Executor 20 

1934 Mrs. Yereker’s Courier Maid 1^ 

WIILIAM BLACK’S WORKS. 

13 A Princess of Tehule 20 

28 A Daughter of Heth 10 

47 In Silk Attii*e 10 

48 The Strange Adventures of Phaeton 10 

51 Kilmeny 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. — Ordinary Edition. 


484 Hidden Perils (in large type) '20 

23 The Squire’s Legacy 10 

516 The Squire’s Legacy (in large type) 20 

27 Victor and Vanquished, .'20 

29 Nora’s Love Test 10 

421 Nora’s Love Test (in large type) 20 

275 A Shadow on the Threshold 10 

363 Reaping the Whirlwind '. 10 

384 Back to the Old Home 10 ' 

415 A Dark Inheritance 10 

440 The Sorrow of a Secret, and Lady Carmichael’s Will 10 

686 Brenda York e : 10 

724 For Her Dear Sake 20 

852 Missing • 10 

855 Dolf s Big Brother lO 

930 In the Holidays, and The Name Cut on a Gate 10 

935 Under Life’s Key, and Oth.er Stories ..'20 

972 Into the Shade, and Other Stories 20 

1011 My First Offer 10 

1014 Told in New England, and Other Tales 10 

1016 At the Seaside; or, A Sister’s Sacrifice ^ .10 

1220 Dorothy’s Venture >. 20 

1221 Among the Ruins, and Other Stories. 10 

1431 “ A Little Aversion ” 10 

1549 Bid Me Discourse 10 

CHARLES LEVER’S WORKS. 

98 Harry Lorrequer 20 

132 Jack Hinton, the Guardsman 20 

187 A Rent in a Cloud 10 

146 Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon (Triple Number) ... . 30 . 
152 Arthur O’Leaiy 20 , 

168 Con Cregan 20 

169 St. Patrick’s Eve 10 

174 Kate O’Donoghue 20 

257 That Boy of’Norcott’s 10 

296 Tom Burke of “ Ours.” First half. .1 20 ' 

296 Tom Burke of “ Ours.” Second half 20 

319 Davenport Dunn. First half. 20 

319 Davenport Dunn. Second half 20 

464 Gerald Fitzsrerald. ..... ^ 20 


' THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Ordinary Edition. " 


470 The Fortunes of Glencore 20 

529 Lord Kilgobbin 20 

546 Maurice Tier nay 20 

566 A Day’s Ride. : . 20 

609 Barrington 20 

633 Sir Jasper Carew, Knight. .-. 20 

657 The Martins of Cro’ Martin. Part 1 20 

657 The Martins of Cro’ Martin. Part II, 20 

822 Tony Butler 20 

872 Luttrell of Arran. Part I 20 

872 Luttrell of Arran. Part II 20 

951 Paul Gosslett’s Confessions 10 

965 One of Them. First half ...^ 20 

965 One of Them. Second half 20 

989 Sir Brook Fossbrooke. Parti 20 

989 Sir Brook Fossbrooke. Part II 20 

1235 The Bramleighs of Bishop’s Folly 20 

1309 The Dodd Family Abroad. First half 20 

1309 The Dodd Family Abroad. Second half 20 

1342 , Horace Templeton 20 

1394 Roland Cashel. First half 20 

1394 Roland Cashel. Se^nd half 20 

1496 The Daltons; or, Three Roads in Life. First half 20 

1496 The Daltons; or, Three Roads in Life. Second half 20 

GEORGE MACDONALD’S WORKS. 

455 Paul Faber, Surgeon .- 26 

491 Sir Gibbie 20 

595 The Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood ' 20 

606 The Seaboard Parish 20 

627 Thomas Wingfold, Curate 20 

643 The Vicar’s Daughter 20 

668 David Elginbrod 20 

677 St. George’and St. Michael 20 

790 Alec Forbes of Howglen 20 

887 Malcolm... .,** 20 

922 Mary Marston 20 

938 Guild Court. A London Story 20 

948 The Marquis of Lossie 20 

962 Robert Falconer 20 

1375 Castle Warlock: A Homely Romance 20 

■ 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. — Oi'dinary Edition. 


1439 Adela Cathcart. 20 

1466 The Gifts of the Child Christ, and Other Tales 10 

1488 The Princess and Curdie. A Girl’s Story 10 

1498 Weighed and Wanting 20 

1884 Donal Grant 20 

1921 The Portent 10 

1922 Phantastes: A Faerie Romance for Men and Women 10 

MRS. OLTPHANT’S WORKS. 

136 Katie Stewart 10 

210 Young Musgrave 20 

391 The Primrose Path. 20 

452 An Odd Couple 10 

475 Heart and Cross 10 

488 A Beleaguered City 10 

497 For Love and Life 20 

511 Squire Arden 20 

542 The Story of Valentine and His Brother 20 

596 Caleb Field 10 

651 Madonna Mary *. 20 

665 The Fugitives 10 

680 The Greatest Heiress in England 20 

706 Earthbound : 10 

775 The Queen (Illustrated). 10 

785 Orphans 10 

802 Phoebe, Junior. A Last Chronicle of Carlingford 20 

875 No. 3 Grove Road 10 

881 He That Will Not When He May 20 

919 May 20 

959 Miss Marjoribanks. Part 1 20 

959 Miss Marjoribanks. Part II 20 

1004 Harry Joscelyn . 20 

1017 Carita 20 

1049 In Trust 20 

1215 Brownlows 20 

1319 Lady Jane. 10 

1396 Whiteladies 20 

1407 A Rose in June 10 

1449 A Little Pilgrim 10 

1547 It Was a Lover and His Las# 20 

1647 The Ladies 'Lindores 20 

- 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. — Ordinary Edition. 


1662 Salem Chapel. • 20 

1669 The Minister’s Wife. First half 20 

1669 The Minister’s Wife. Second half 20 

1680 The Wizard’s Son ; 20 

1697 The Lady’s Walk. 10 

1708 Sir Tom 20 

1794 A Son of the Soil 20 

1798 Hester: A Story of Contemporary Life 20 

1804 The Laird of Norlaw 20 

1919 The Prodigals: And Their Inheritance 10 

1935 Memoirs and Resolutions of Adam Graeme of Mossgray, 

Including Some Chronicles of the Borough of Fendie. . . 20 

1937 Madam 10 

1945 The House on the Moor *. 20 

“OUIDA’S” WORKS. 

49 Granville de Vigne; or, Held in Bondage 20 

54 Under Two Flags 20 

55 In a Winter City 10 

56 Strathmore 20 

59 Chandos 20 

61 Bebee; or, Two Little Wooden Shoes 10 

62 Folle^Farine ‘20 

71 Ariadne — The Story of a Dream 20 

181 Beatrice Boville 10 

211 Randolph Gordon 10 

230’Little Grand and the Marchioness 10 

241 Tricotrin 20 

249 Cecil Castlemaine’s Gage 10 

279 A Leaf in the Storm, and Other Tales 10 

281 Lady Marabout’s Troubles . lo 

334 Puck 20 

877 Friendship. 20 

879 Pascarel 20 

386 Signa. 20 

389 Idalia 20 

563 A Hero’s Reward 10 

676 Umilta 10 

699 Moths 20 

791 Pipistrello lo 

$64 Findelkind. iQ 


*4 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Ordinary Edition. 


915 A Village Commune 20 

1025 The Little Earl... ‘ .' 10 

1247 In Maremma 20 

1334 Bimbi lo 

1586 Frescoes 10 

1625 Wanda, Countess von Szalras 20 

1755 Afternoon, and Other Sketches 10 

1851 Princess Napraxine 20 

/ 

CHARLES READE’S WORKS. 

4 A Woman-Hater 20 

19 A Terrible Temptation 10 

21 Foul Play 20 

24 “ It is Never Too Late to Mend ” 20 

31 Love Me Little, Love Me Long 20 

34 A Simpleton 10 

41 White Lies 20 

78 Griffith Gaunt 20 

86 Put Yourself in His Place .' 20 

112 Very Hard Cash 20 

203 The Cloister and the Hearth 20 

237 The Wandering Heir 10 

246 Peg WoflSngion 10 

270 The Jilt. . 10 

371 Christie Johnstone • 10 

536 Jack of all Trades 10 

1204 Clouds and Sunshine .-. . . 10 

1322 The Knightsbridge Mystery 10 

1390 Singleheart and Doubleface. A Matter-of-Pact Romance... 10 

1817 Readiana: Comments on Current Events 10 

1853 Love and Money; or, A Perilous Secret 20 


SIR WALTER SCOTT’S WORKS. 


39 Ivanhoe 

183 Kenilworth 

196 Heart of Mid-Lothian 

593 The Talisman 

723 Guy Mannering 

857 Waverley 

920 Rob Roy ", 

1007 Quentin Durward 


20 I 
20 ' ! 
20 
20 
20 
20 ' 
20 


THE SEASIDE' LIBRARY.— Onlinury Eaiiwn, 


1082 Count Robert of Paris 20 

1275 Old Mortality 20 

1328 The Antiquary - 20 

1399 The Pirate 20 

1462 The Betrothed: A Tale of the Crusaders, and The Chron- 
icles of the Canongate • 20 

1598 Redgauntlet. A Tale of the Eighteenth Century 20 

1 701 The Monastery ; 20 

1702 The Abbot (Sequel to “The Monastery”) 20 

1827 The Fair Maid of Perth. ... 20 

1831 St. Ronan’s Well 20 

1848 The Black Dwarf, and A Legend of Montrose 20 

1865 Peveril of the Peak 30 

ANTHONY TROLLOPE’S WORKS. 

12 The American Senator 20 

399 The Lady of Launay 10 

530 Sir Harry Hotspur of Humblethwaite 20 

531 John Caldigate 20 

601 Cousin Henry 10 

768 The Duke’s Children 20 

870 An Eye for an Eye 10 

910 Dr. Wortle’s School 10 

944 Miss Mackenzie 20 

1047 Ayala’s Angel 20 

1090 Barchester Towers 20 

1201 Phineas Finn. First half. 20 

1201 Phineas Finn. Second half 20 

1206 Doctor Thorne. First half 20 

1206 Doctor Thorne. Second half 20 

1217 Lady Anna 20 

1255 The Fixed Period 10 

1283 Why Frau Frohmann Raised Her Prices, and Other Stories. 10 

1292 Marion Fay 20 

1306 The Struggles of Brown, Jones & Robinson 20 

1318 Orley Farm. First half 20 

1318 Orley Farm. Second half 20 

1348 The. Belton Estate 20 

1419 Kept in the Dark 10 

1436 The Kellys and The O ’Kellys 20 

1450 The Two Heroines of Plumplington 10 


7 HE SEASIDE T A BE AET.r- Ordinary Edition. 


1455 The Macderm5ts of Bally cloran 20 

1473 Castle Richmond 20 

1486 Phineas Redux. First half 20 

1486 Phineas Redux. Second half 20 - 

1494 The Vicar of Bullhampton 20 

1511 Not If I Know It 10 

1551 Is He Popenjoy? 20 

1559 The Small House at Allington. First half 20 

1559 The Small House at Allington. Second half 20 

1567 The Last Chronicle of Barset. First half. 20 

1567 The Last Chronicle of Barset,- Second half 20 

1634 The Way We Live Now. First half 20 

1634 The Way We Live Now. Second half 20 

1656 Mr. Scarborough’s Family 20 

1685 Alice Dugdale 10 

1707 The Land Leaguers ; 20 

1728 Anthony Trollope’s Autobiography 20 

1756 Rachel Ray 20 

1802 Framley Parsonage ! 20 

1805 La Mere Bauche ^ 10 

1816 An Old Man’s Hove 10 

JULES VERNE’S WORKS. 

5 The Black-Indies 10 

16 The English at the North Pole 10 

43 Hector Servadac 10 

57 The Castaways; or, A Voyage Round the World — South" 

America 10 

60 The Castaways; or, A Voyage Round the World— Australia 10 
64 The Castaways; or, A Voyage Round the World— New 

Zealand 10 

68 Five Weeks in a Balloon 10 

72 Meridiana, and The Blockade Runners 10 

75 The Fur Country. Part I 10 

75 The Pur Country. Part II 10 

84 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas 10 

87 A Journey to the Centre of the Earth 10 

90 The Mysterious Island — Dropped from the Clouds 10 

93 The Mysterious Island — The Abandoned 10 

97 The Mysterious Island — The Secret of the Island 10 

99 From the Earth to the Moon 10 


TEE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Ordinary Edition. 


Ill A Tour of the World in Eighty Da3^s 10 

131 Michael Strogoff 10 

1092 Michael Strogoff (large type, illustrated.edition) 30 

414 Dick Sand; or, Captain at Fifteen. Part 1 10 

414 Dick Sand; or. Captain at Fifteen. Part II 10 

466 Great Voyages and Great Navigators. Part I 10 

466 Great Voyages and Great Navigators. Part II 10 

466 Great Voyages anri Great Navigators. Part III 30 

508 The Field of Ice (Illuslrated) 10 

510 The Pearl of Lima 10 

520 Pound the Moon (Illustrated) 10 

634 The 500 Millions of the Begum. . . 10 

647 Tribulations of a Chinaman 10 

673 Dr. Ox’s Experiment .' 10 

710 Survivors of the Chancellor .....’ 10 

818 The Steam-House; or, A Trip Across Northern India. 

Parti.. 10 

818 The Steam-House; or, A Trip Across Northern India. 

Part II 10 

1043 The Jangada; or, Eight Hundred Leagues over the Ama- 
zon. Part I’. 10 

1043 The Jangada; or, Eight Hundred Leagues over the Ama- 
zon. Part 11 10 

1519 Robinsons’ School 10 

1677 The Headstrong Turk. First half 10 

1677 The Headstrong Turk. Second half 10 

1716 The Green Ray 10 


The above works contained in The Seaside Library, Ordinary Edition, are 
for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any addi'ess, postage free, on 
receipt of 12 cents for single numbers, and 25 cents for double numbers, by 
the publisher. Parties ordering hy mail will please order by numbers. 

GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 

P, O. Box 37M. 17 to 27 Vandewater St., N. Y. 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 


THE SEASIDE LIBRAEY.-POCKET EDITION. 

LATEST ISSUES: 


378 Homeward Bound; or. The Chase. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

379 Home as Found. (Sequel to “ Home- 

ward Bound.”) By J. Fenimore 
Cooper 20 

380 Wyandotte; or. The Hutted Knoll. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

381 Tlie Red Cardinal. By Frances Elliot 10 

382 Tliree Sisters; or. Sketches of a 

Hierhly Original Family. By Elsa 
D'Esterre-Keeling 10 

383 Introduced to Society. By Hamilton 

Aid6 . . ; 1C 

384 On Horseback Through Asia Minor. 

By Capt. Fi ed Burnaby 20 

385 The Headsman; or, 'Die Abbaye des 

Vignerons. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

386 Led Astray ; or, ” La Petite Conitesse.” 

By Octave P'euillet 10 

387 The Secret of the Cliffs. By Charlotte 

French 20 

388 Addie’s Husband ; or, Through Clouds 

to Sunshine. By the author of 
“ Love or Lands?” 10 

389 Ichabod. By Bertha Thomas 10 

390 Mildred Trevanion. “The Duchess” 10 

391 Tlie Heart of Mid-Lothian. By Sir 

Walter Scott 20 

392 Peveril of the Peak. Sir Walter Scott 20 

393 The Pirate. Sir Walter Scott 20 

394 The Bravo. By J. Fenimore Cooper. 20 

395 The Archipelago on Fire. By Jules 

Verne ‘10 

396 Robert Ord's Atonement. By Rosa 

Nouchette Carey .* 20 ( 


397 Lionel Lincoln ; or, The Leaguer of 

of Boston. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 : 

398 Matt; A Tale of a Caravan. Bj’Rob- ^ 

ert Buchanan ; . . 10 ^ 

399 Miss Brown. By Vernon Lee 20 ■ 

400 The Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

401 Waverley. By Sir Walter Scott ' . 20 

402 Lilliesleaf; or, Passages in the Life of ' 

Mrs, Margaret Maitland of Sunny- 
side. By Mrs. OJiphant. ...... w.'. . 20 

403 An English Squire. C. R. Coleridge . 20 

404 In Durance Vile, and Other Stories. 

By ” The Duchess ”... 10 

405 My Fi iends and I. Edited by Julian 

Sturgis 10 

406 The Merchant’s Clerk. By Samuel 

Warren 10 

407 Tylney Hall. By Thomas Hood 20 

408 Lester’s Secret. By Mary Cecil Hay 20 

409 Roy’s Wife. G. J. Whyte-Melville. .. 20 

410 Old Lady Mary. By Mrs. Oliphant . . 10 

411 A Bitter Atonement. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme, author of " Dora 
Thorne ” 20 

412 Some One Else. By B. M. Croker 20 

413 Afloat and Ashore. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to “Afloat 

and Ashore.”) J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

415 The Ways of the Hour. By J. Feni- 

ni ore Cooper , 20 

416 Jack Tier; or, The Florida Reef, By 

J. Fenimore Cooper 20 


The above books are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage pre- 
paid, by, the publishei*, on receipt of 12 cents for single numbers, 17 cents for special numbers, and 
2.') cents for double numbers. Parties wishing the Pocket T'JdittVaof 'I'HKSKASiuii; Libuary nmst be 
careful to mention the Pocket Edition, otherwise the Ordinary Edition will be sent. Address, 

CiEORGE lUlJNRO, riiblisher, 

1*. O. IIox 3751. 17 to ‘.i7 Vaudewater Street, New York. 


MUNRO’S PERIODICALS. 

THE NEW YORK MONTHLY FASHION BAZAR 

Price 25 Cents per Copy. By Subscription, S2.50 per year. 

THE NEW Y ORK MONTHLY FASHION BAZAR is for sale by all newsdealers, or 
will be sent, postage prepaid, for 25 cents per single copy. 

GEORGE IHUNRO, Publisher, 

17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. 


P. O. Box 3751 


THE CELEBRATED 



GRAND, SQUARE AND UPRIGHT PIANOS. 


FIRST PRIZE 

DIPLOMA. 

Centennial Exnibi- 
tion, 1876; Montreal, 
1881 and 1882. 

The enviable po- 
sition Sohmer & 
Co. hold among 
American Piano 
Manufacturers is 
solely due to the 
merits of their in- 
struments. 



They are used 
in Conservato- 
ries, Schools and 
Seminaries, on ac- 
count of their su- 
perior tone and 
unequaled dura- 
bility. 

The SOHMER 
Piano is a special 
favorite with the 
leading musicians 
and critics. 


ARE AT PRESENT THE MOST POPULAR 

AND PIIEFEKRI‘:D by the beading artists. 

SOHMER & CO., Manufacturers, Ho, 119 to 155 E. lltli Street, H. Y. 

The Hew York Fireside Companion. 

THE MOST POPULAR PAPER IN THE UNION. 


IT CONTAINS 


Incomparably the Best Continued Stories 

^Detective Stories Tdjt- “Old. Sleiitli,” 

AND 

The Richest Variety of Sketches and Literary Miscellany. 


TERMS: — The New York Fireside Companion will be sent for one year, on receipt 
of S3: two copies for $5. Getters-up of clubs can afterward add single conies at S2.50 
each. We will be responsible for remittances sent in Registered Letters or by Post- 
office Money Orders. Postage free. Specimen copies sent free. 

GEORGE MTINRO, Publisher, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to li7 Vandewater Street, New York. 



’ flnT 11*4'^ %S^t' 

. ^ 'v v9K£SSSSS . 



‘ '*k ' < / ^ i^SlflV'IAEB|L: 

|4-'i,-< , .‘. 1^' ■' 'V VVKk^jaXIl^ 

- •■'^ SV';v‘*>v<f. Si '>>»'. 

f ' - *- *ir •‘^’^•■•ws’-'- v? 'JMF' *>• 


’ ' . . ' ■ . — „ _ J i < . 





* . mA f lJ 

•‘ .*» 


r*^ f 




' ' ^ . 


i''0' 


, i» 






■ ’ ' a '.'' '^^T' £ '• . 






jO 


.ji 



•■ A ■ ?v< ^ Vr^i’ ■ y I r ;i^A, ? i>- J^^: •- ' « v7 

I »• • * ', • • ■• k' ' ' ^ *■• 





t * 



aHjQI < « » ■ *• rH 

Ekm » ^ •.•’ •, . II ' 

r* ' . tv •• i. *• . . 


* i*‘i ' '^4tj 

■' .V‘' 

.Ml-r 

:vi>^ 


‘I 


• « e 

y 


' 1 




4*' *'•• V ’* 


:':■ ' V "vVij.. • 

j . • • 


.iiM'. :■„. : "^saaa ■r.n 


:.i 


‘■^ i 


r 


* % ' k i ^1 

* 0 ' f 1' '•jl* • • r/v r \ 

, ^ •• . '• '.r* 


* • • 

i 


■,v 



; ♦r I|r 4 vj 
> 


I •• 


.V-. i* 


I - 

• • \ k 




: •. /L . ' . 

• ijuftl '.V J/V.J 


» - » 


• « 


A 


« 


•• ; .1, V ■ *-’•’% ■ ;' 

‘. . .'T - • .' ..■- 


i 




lX-;. 


:•*. 4 




%. ( 




% 


I ' 

i 




« * . 


:'ll,;';; ■ ;i3i 

•’ ’ > ' . ,i . • , , 

' -I ‘ ' .<\z 




4m 




.•» 


. / 






■•or** 




'r%- • . ; vr 

. y V .. . ^ ■ ®^S&p: ' ^ 


^itV V' - -Ik . •■• I - 

••!.:.* • .- , * . • ' 

t\». - ' 




»*S‘ 




•• fi ^ 


> T > . ^ 




• .. I 


> K* 




-♦l-i 


vr*' 






■} 


■’4 






M ‘ 


i:^.i 


t' • 


■'.' I. 


> 


■tr- 






ri*» . 


V* 


r^' 


u.f 


,■> r 


1' •. 




ji 


• ' 




f , If 

^ c '» r .X 
. r 




\ V 


• ^ • 


/ 






5, v 

^ll 


t 


1- 


A » 








. t 


I • 
t 








I ^ 'v • , f • - 


1 . ‘ it * 

.1 / ' . w V < 


'*'• ■«. ' , , * 

4.' V .jfti , -.v ■ !• 

-•■>■■ .= ■' '*■;. - -i" 


r ^ ,• 


I . 


. . .. # >' 
r ' Vv‘ ^ 



\ i 


^ m- '• ■ 


^ t 

* / 


. V-, 

■v ^ 

y 7 


I 


• •- 


L»' 

« '* ',• .. - 


I . 




V' 


I 


. .i. 


• !, 


< -» 


:^z’- iis^ 


^ « 


''ip 


* r 




• ' • • 






• ^ 
4 


■'< 




/ ^ 


f* w 

• ' ^ 


S\'. 


\ 


{ 




« , ' * 

>. * - 4 ^ 


,r ‘ 

kl ■ 


t . ■^ *. 

f . 


• I 


** . > ' I V 






» • * 

j.- 

-V^.. 

^ . «• I 




\V 

« 'v 



• • •' - * ' •' . A-- ' .-■>: 

■; ■' '• i ' r* ' • •’ /-■."■ ■' ■ <.•■ ■• 

7 , »,. I ,"3iUO'w. ■ -• ., ,1 * • •- i , •• 


■ - .: «. 

M ■■■* ‘ • i-.' > '.. 


« 

• r ,. 


. J . . 

<1 « 


i 


* ; j 


I 

« 


.. * 


y.. 


^' 7 '- • ,-»v2K ■- 

^.<y- ■ ' ^ 

;).^rV': i*!; •>■ 


\ ' 

v.'* 

f 




■t 

A 


, V ,»l 




r •’ 


f »»* # » 




s . 


« « 




:• '.7 


, - ' .' 

t ■'•- 




» . 

. ' 

t 


t 

t . 


y » 

« 1 
« 


, T 


N/, 


> . f 
«. 


il 


♦ 

. f 


w’y 


I 


* 


•^'r 


-. • 


1« 


( 

it. 


«. 




.t 


« . r 


.V •• ' 43 oC 36 ‘ ^ ^ * 

. -,1 j. 

Km.'**' ' 


'i**. /r^ ' • 

■' 

■ 'v’i- 


I * 
*•• 

* ■ 


'v^‘ 




*»L-*bO' ' K ^■' ' 

'■* A*’ 

iU^'* ; '..&■: 


.' J. 


^ C” -* . ' r ,’ 


•' •' ; 

• *' 


♦ 1 


1 » 
< 






*• 4 






) 


•: ' ' . 

k-V- .> fs 


' • ‘ "b' V. V 

z<> ■ * \. 




ii /' 


•* ^ 

« « < * 


.•: ri ^ 


p^- 







5 


i ' 


. I 




•v- 

V, 


* ‘1 


m 


■ < 


.«* \ . •f” *4 


r.'i*^ 


.• > 




'I 1 . V . -1 

^ ’i. • v«**» . 

,.V. «. *. V' 

rJ"':' 




.* •• 


I *; 4 ' 

■ 'r “ n 


•5.'.' • *4 • . 


,» 

dy *.* ■' - 1 ■ •' 


• Ti’’’ ■ 



» ■ I 


V. 

I • 


e • 


'" - •'i«f^-.' i y ^4 

\*»T ■ V 5 f»- ' '* vf 




m 




i ' •■ f ij ,• If , ' • • 

^*■4.';, •»% *7 

t‘. •♦ r. ; * '^7^* • 

.• •' rM?,. f -.V *. • 






' '.*•' V‘ 





^W‘ 


• - ' > 

• . .• * * 


% « • 

'* 

^•1 








r" : » 

4 * .. 




. • *.'■ 




V 

• \ 




: .( 


'X .:.MmLX'*..^L 4 ^ 


Xvh 


’ » 1. » ''^4 **vW«'.J 






V . ' lO '■. ».. •■ 


»-. — ; 


rr«s ■'V., 


^ V-v * 


V r- 


■> x 





’•'"'iLH 




70 


• i 


. . • i ’ •• ’ Vi ’ 

•.' « I ' > ' J 



• t- 


» <- 


r 






, y .‘J;- 

■ 4'^ 

. ' N 4 . ’ ^^- 


r 


. 'ff-:; -r: :,'V. 
• *?»•- •• ;■'’ ' 


^ r 

r % 


•w 


• i' 




■ • .' 

✓ 


• # 


, f 


, 44 " 

V 


• > 


M 


i $ 





I i.'^' 1 


> 

> 


Jk 

Vi.’ 


S*»r^ 


% 

I 




I " 

« 


L 

*• * 


*r . || “ 

■ V, 


I I 


IV 


' 1 A 

ri 


Yf'. -r' 

r'jf I •,,••. i _ 

IplM 


* I 

u 


> ■ ' ■ 



C' 

< ' 'y 


t • 


A/i 

M 


t 




» 

.• 


• • * T / - 

*;\ • ,s^ '’'LMvi' »-.‘'vi:, 

L^ ,-. -■ -’-AiVVi'f :.^k-.' , 

‘ • i' -* i 



» 

• < * 


4'. 


» 


f 

!. ' 

« 

I . 


S I 






■Hy ■ ; 


■ r 

‘rl* 


*^'IH 

y 

♦ - 

* * 1 


/ • 

■ 7.^^ 

• ‘v^ 







1 

' 





*'■••, T ■ **!■'' 

’j. '. '*. ' 

' V. '■ r 

■ . I %* '^.'i ' ’*. .4 ^ 


'1 . ■ 


s; 


'*» k %. 



Ttv -^ wsa^v ■ » ■- ..■, 

•if."-" ' • ••'•i^'.'^flpasi 


<, r, 


^ . « 1 ^ ' J 



' • • ' v ;^- ’ ' ■ 

» v /' '. tl ^*. ■ * . ■ 

'■ ■ '.' -f ’ ■ 

v'lk ']^Kn • < * 9 * -'*.' 

"XjmB' 'T "• ■ 

'•' Vk'HBn 




r 


T * 


>• .. 


I 


■ < .» 



L» •> 


» ■*> 


i ■ .iV 


'■: X '^- ,.• . 

'yX j •' ' '••■* *' 


li.- •- .'■ ”> r- 


if^'’ >:• '■■ 



1 ; 


r 


V 'j ' "> 


v.V 

V '-’- 


- J 


r .,- 


•.» I t ' 

• 


• • •' i 


4 • 


1 , 




I « 




rt -- 

' 1 % ’■ • ' • * 




1 



. .A'*?- A ;i’‘ 


; ^ 


/ * 




.■» 


V > 




'.''i ... 'V,r* 

• « * 


>«^ * . 
W 


S . ^lXp''V 


A 


.i^ 


A- A 


i ■ t 






• J 




. i-’v 


^ . 
‘ »» 


•• • 



['■ tv 


M 


a 


K 


• ■ 1 . tks 


» 


• . 


m 


t k 


f % 




^ ' *■ ^ ' '■ 




1 ?*• 


•ill 


Tj - 



<rv' 

&2i'V 



~r p 


» 

« 

• / 


V . 


•:| 



•• V 


1 • 

■• u\ r^/ •'■ 


V \ 

> 



. - sV '*'/. 




4 , 




^'t:a 




I f 


V a 




»- 


•. ^1 






* • , #» 



««. 


!•'•’,•< '. « ir4 ^ • >»*'. v ' • •. • KAt ttt ‘ ’ • ‘ . 

,*m - 





Mil ' 


-• f " 


»4 




I 1 


s 

A. 





-i; /t; '-. . ' A’^»n 


* 





* 4* / ' 

■X.;"' 

'"my 


V 


' - t . • 


• 'S 

« -4 ' 


t. 


. '■' XVJ/Xv /r • % ■' •• 

. 4- ' » ^ 

4i ' ' . 


-V 


..»• 




• * 
4 . 
/ 


I I 


r- 


• « 


- u 








- 1. 

*! 

t ■' 


« ( 


. < r 


‘jR^' J • • ^ Mr- ' '■ '' ■ ' ' ‘ ‘ ■ A. " 

♦' .'". - J't ■ :- ■ , . ■);■ '’ .. ■ - f ' ; ■ . * 

pr - XX - • •■'/‘■.• A '- X ’. ■' . :• . /..■ ■■ A . 

ri«^-'&&-''/' "• a; ■ ■■'•, ■ . ' .' •' '*»aS 2 


m " i - V ' 

■'J X'X/;"* 

- - T j ' , • 





' t 

-'• 1 ' 


■ ,.ii . V -* -.- V ' l - 

V'.^V.xA ' 







.. . 



■ r'^ "J.v 
"v : $lWK ^ 



j . >. 


• r* 


H A- \ ' ,^'- 


*;.V'**. 



'#!• '>« -.-i' ■ . >• *i*i. 

W» ‘Tv 


M. ’ • • - **St 

* *1 



< :'\ ‘•'.f 


' < I 

t 


» 

» ' 


* 

•% 





V ». 



I 


K • > V 

. i •! ^ ’ rg * . 

' ■•^ililV' 

'■ 'UJ 


♦ t . 


•i*:- 

• f'.,^ ^ i\ t 




I 


^ ' w» 

I > « 




' 1 V 

; 

# V. 




. t*^. t ./ /V'.*; ’ 

*■, I*’ ' ‘ ' • ' "i ' • .* •* ' 

'■i. ‘ i ., 

■•' ■ L;J;iii>lii,':. 


I I 

•,^•4 

•» 


4 

.v^ 


r.- 


A •:. 


« 4 


‘ ‘ir 


4 k ' ' * * ' 


4 • 


> » 




^l I * 


^!r 


■f*r 

< •!>; 

'* *' 


I 

I 

• I 






h p 

* • -r 1 




, A, 


i,.f.'C;-, ^ ‘-^ '•■■■. -.:’v 


“ A 
% 


b A * 


I' 


# ’ 
»' • 



■r .;. V ,.,r , ■ ■ ■ / ■■. ,.fl. 


■ ' (' 



. 4 :i..'A.' * ‘ 


: ■■ St&' 



-... . ..... — . .., . ■ .J «;;)(£; 

■ ■ ■ ■ ■. .W V. 


A 

« 



■■ >•■-•■ '4' 



,brf.«.W *\. . 1 ^ 






A 1 ) 











mw! 








mf'TTrr\ 








mft¥7mii^ 


IWIBBiPIEBW^ 

mwVBH^USKiMSBImwmM 









